


Iris

by anysavagecandance



Series: Season Fifteen (or what you will) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (how long had they been walking around without feet one might wonder...), Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol, Cancer, Cas finding his feet, Dean also finding his feet, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2019, Hurt!Cas, I have a cooking fetish, I have a show it don't gotta say it fetish, M/M, Sharing a Bed, a bit of casework, and a bit of emotional angst, and idiots being idiots, and that delicious trope of, as Cas deals with his mortality, but I like it when they talk so I make em, but mostly the two idiots still being idiots, but there's no dwelling on either topic, canon compliant up until 14x14, caretaker!Dean, exists in this fic, future!fic, human!Cas, oh yeah right! -->, season fifteen (or what you will), set about seven months before Let There Be More Light, supportive buddies, the bestest of friends, there are horses in here, there will be pines, there's also the mention of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 15:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18153560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysavagecandance/pseuds/anysavagecandance
Summary: Dean and Cas drive from Kansas to New Mexico to help out on a case in the small community where Cesar and Jesse have put down roots. With Cas recently human and getting hurt on his first hunt, casework seems a good distraction, but Dean and Cas both have a lot to work through and distractions only last for so long.





	1. Kansas to New Mexico

His body hurt. Everywhere. It had been a week since his first full-blown hunt as a human and still everything hurt. It had been brutal. They’d been up against a group of vampires and he’d gotten what felt like half his shoulder ripped off his body, blood soaking warm trails down his back and Dean yelling for him to stay down, damn it. He’d still managed to cut his assailant’s head off with just his left hand, before he slumped against a wall as the shock to his system took over.

When they got back to the bunker he’d fought to remain standing, but faltered and Dean’s hands had supported him into a chair. He’d thought there was a tremble in Dean’s fingers, but he didn’t say anything about it because he knew it’d make Dean uncomfortable. More uncomfortable. He suspected it was discomfort that made Dean say he’d be right back, finding some excuse to leave the room. Sam remained, concerned expression wrinkling his forehead. 

“You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Take your shirt off, man, we’ve gotta stitch you up.”

“Sure…”

“Here, lemme help.”

And Sam had helped him off with his bloodstained jacket and shirt. Slow, measured movements and Sam’s encouraging words and Dean rejoining them, carrying the first aid kit and a determined look on his face. It made Cas smile apropos of nothing, really, maybe trying to ease the tension. Because there was tension. It sat like tight, folded wings across Dean’s back, wings that didn’t easily unfold. They never had. Dean didn’t return the smile, didn’t meet his gaze, kneeling down and focusing on the wound, getting to work with used, practiced movements. 

Cas winced. Dean said don’t be a baby. Cas said, with a slightly confused and yet defiant frown, I’m not a baby, not really taking the statement literally, but having realised, a little while back, the effect it sometimes had when he did.

And, finally, Dean smiled. 

The expression didn’t last long, but it reached his eyes and they met Cas’ and it was all that was necessary for Cas to feel a little better, a little stronger. 

Sam had gotten a bowl of water, a sponge, a cloth. They washed the blood off Cas’ back, dragging soapy warm water over his shoulder blades and along his spine, Sam drying him with a towel before putting on the final bandages, and Dean made Cas tilt his head back so he could take a look at the bruise that was evidently the reason Cas’ jaw felt like it was about to unhinge itself. Fingertips across it made Cas gnash his teeth and yet… 

The touch was gone as soon as it appeared, Dean picking up the first aid kit, leaving the room again.

You did good out there, Dean had said in the Impala on the ride back, looking in the rearview mirror at Cas in the backseat, Sam next to him, keeping pressure on the wound. You did good, he’d repeated and Cas had wondered if there was the need to convince himself as much as offer acknowledgement, as though the wounds Dean and his brother had sustained over the years were part of the job and Dean was saying in not so many words that this wound was no different. It had made Cas feel lightheaded with gratitude. Or perhaps that sensation was nothing but the bloodloss.

*

Even with the wound, Cas wasn’t expecting being confined to the bunker. “Getting better” - as Sam called it, while according to Dean he was “healing” - a word that came with constantly slapping Cas’ protests of this prolonged confinement down with a low, almost private-sounding _You gotta let yourself heal, man_ and looking at him like he wanted to spoon more chicken and tomato soup down his throat and wrap more blankets around him, so to stave off the urge Cas just nodded and acquiesced. 

Convalesence, he believed was the proper term. Taking time off from work to get better, to heal.

After the drama surrounding his fall, Cas felt he owed it to the people close to him to respect their counsel. He would never forget the look on either of their faces when Jack brought him back to life, right in the middle of the crater he’d torn into the Earth, like an open grave for everything he had once been. He had ended up in his vessel, sent down in the human body he’d begun thinking of as his own, and since he wasn’t in need of rebirth - more than leaving his wings behind - he had quite ironically died on impact and stayed dead for half a minute. 

He had a feeling he wouldn’t be resurrected next time, even with Jack in his corner. Billie was all about balancing the scales, and keeping them balanced after Michael. 

Now, as part of his convalesence, Cas sat reading in his room. He sat sideways - back against one arm of his deep leather armchair, legs over the other - mostly so he could put his feet up without having to pull the heavy chair closer to the bed. He did miss his powers sometimes. 

There was a knock on the door and he knew who it was before even looking up. Dean was the only one who knocked once and then more or less swept his knuckle through the second knock, down along the wood of the door. Every time. A ball of heat collected in Cas’ chest at the familiarity, and he put the book down, returning Dean’s smile.

“Busy?” Dean asked.

“I always have time for you, Dean,” Cas replied, earnestly, making Dean swallow for some reason, his smile faltering just a tad, growing nervous, Cas thought, but then Dean shook whatever the mood was off and said:

“Wanna come on a hunt? With me. We’d go together.”

“Oh.”

“If you don’t want to- I mean, if you’re not ready—…”

“I’m ready,” Cas interrupted, not adding he hadn’t thought Dean was. 

“Alright,” Dean said, eyes in his, moving into a warmth that kept lingering lately, making Cas think that maybe, soon, but then Dean looked away, turning, heading to the door, Cas frowning at his back, saying:

“Where are we going?”

“New Mexico,” Dean replied without slowing down. “Leave in an hour,” he added, disappearing from view, but reappearing and tapping the doorway unnecessarily to get Cas’ attention back on him when Cas’ eyes had lingered on the spot, Dean seemingly not noticing this at all as he added: “It’s an overnighter. Might even be a few.”

“I’ll pack a bag,” Cas said and Dean gave a nod, and another smile, and was gone.

*

Baby was a black streak down Route 56. Fields stretched out on either side of the road as it cut its straight line through the green for miles ahead. It was a clear day, blue skies, a few drifting clouds in the distance, but the sun beat down, mid-day blinding, and they both had their visors tilted to it, Dean wearing sunglasses while Cas lounged, eyes closed, trying to nap in spite of the loud music and Dean’s intermittent sing along. 

Cas cracked one eye open, looking at Dean’s profile, Dean moving his head from side to side to the bass, thumb tapping the steering wheel. The chorus was approaching and, by the looks of it, Dean was about to belt the lyrics. A second later and sure enough - he was; with feeling. Cas smiled, sitting up and Dean looked at him, not stopping, but getting more animatedly into his own unabashed performance, throwing his whole body into it and Cas tried to keep the laughter down, but couldn’t. Dean smirked, satisfied. 

“Back in the land of the living,” he acknowledged.

“Didn’t exactly sleep,” Cas said.

“Huh. Imagine that,” Dean said, clearly not having to imagine anything since, apparently, the need to heal was passed the moment Cas agreed he was ready to go back on the road again. “Come on, man, it’s a sunny day, got good tunes, you know, fully stocked snack bar,” Dean said while he reached back and pulled at a heavy plastic bag, dropping it in Cas’ lap and Cas noted that it was unsurprisingly filled with what Sam would label heart damage, “and,” Dean added, not quite being able to reach the cooler behind his seat, giving up as he finished: “brought some serious brew.”

“We’re not drinking while driving,” Cas said, digging around in the candy and pulling out a Snickers bar.

Turning his head to Dean he realised Dean was leveling him with a frown so deep it nearly disappeared under the rims of his sunglasses.

“Dude, I’ve been drinking and driving since I was fourteen. You think I’d do it if it meant putting people at risk? Have a little faith.”

Cas’ face didn’t move a muscle. Dean’s began to soften.

“Cas, it’s _beer_. I’d have to drink… _twenty_ to even feel a buzz, okay? It’s fine.”

“If we get thirsty we’ll stop for coffee. I’m just gonna assume you didn’t bring any water,” Cas said, Dean looking at him like yes, he assumed right and Cas unceremoniously handed Dean the opened Snickers bar, diving back in for a Mars bar for himself without another word on the subject.

*

“Dude. Okay, no, I can’t believe you just said that,” Dean said, shaking his head with a disappointed glance at Cas, who raised his eyebrows. “Who the hell doesn’t wanna see the Grand Canyon? This is a clear no to the Canyon? I mean, who— ? So you’re just never gonna— Okay, if I told you, when we’re done with this case, you and me, we’re driving straight to Arizona and we’re seeing the damn Grand Canyon, you’d say naw, thanks, I’m good?”

“That’s at least a nine hour drive in the wrong direction.”

“I’ll get us there in seven and totally beside the point.”

Dean turned his head to prompt a reply and Cas said the only thing that came to mind:

“It was an accident.”

Dean’s brows furrowed.

“What? The _Grand Canyon_?”

“Raphael was having a bad day. God had left, and no one knew where. It was a tumultous time.”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the stearing wheel at the mention of the name, and Cas didn’t blame him, thinking back to one helluva stormy night, the rain beating down on the two of them while Raphael stood in a ring of fire. And then Cas’ mind unbidden driften to the evening preceding it, which made an annoying tingle run up his spine and the echo of Dean’s hearty laughter warm his stomach and the way he had felt Dean open up to him, for a brief moment, had meant much more to him than he’d been able to properly process at the time.

“Well, what the hell was Raphael doing?” Dean asked now, eyes on the road.

“I think he was trying to write something,” Cas said with a slight shrug. “A message, I guess.”

“A message? Like what? Screw you?” Dean said and Cas smirked, then shook his head, his expression turning somber as he looked out the side window.

“Or ‘come home’,” he said, and Dean grew quiet after that.

*

“Ah, look - coffee,” Dean said an hour later, a meaningful headtilt at the last word indicating he wasn’t all too pleased with the ban on alcohol Cas had prescribed. 

“Good,” Cas offered as only response.

If he was honest with himself, Cas had prescribed that ban in the moment, without thinking, following the gut feeling Dean had kept insisting over the past month of training that he had to grab by the short hairs and trust if he was ever to survive in the field. 

Cas didn’t think there was anything wrong, at this point, with his instincts - he had begun to trust them more and more, especially the first time he avoided Dean’s right hook, diving under his arm and getting Dean off balance enough to overpower him. He’d shoved him up against the nearest wall, pressing himself against the heat of Dean’s body and had quickly decided not to linger, letting go and stepping back. Dean had scolded him for that, but it hadn’t been harshly. He’d seemed appreciative at the progress, and perhaps a little thrown off guard. They’d wrapped training for the day soon after.

And the training wasn’t necessary because he was weak or inexperienced as a fighter or a tracker. It was necessary because it had been five years since he was without his grace, and even the first time around he hadn’t ever gotten to actually engage in physical combat. The reason the vamps got the better of him wasn’t because his instincts failed him, but because his reflexes weren’t good enough yet. 

He’d relied on his angel senses for millennia, senses that allowed him to break a moment down into timelessness, ball the past, present and future up into the inconceivably complex and fluid yarn that it was and feel it, like an entity, moving across the palms of his hands, this when fully powered and connected to Heaven. It was a whole other type of sensory machinery he had to get clicking into place as a human. It irked him that he wasn’t as far along as he’d thought when he insisted he get to join the clearing out of that nest.

He shifted in his seat as Dean turned the Impala off the highway, Cas moving his wounded shoulder gently, having enough painkillers in him to keep the ache in check, but he’d begun to become aware of his own fragility, and though it didn’t make him feel fear this time around, it still made him want to be careful. Sustaining injuries and exposing himself to worried glances, and an equally alarming understanding of his own fragile body, was something he’d prefer to avoid as much as possible. 

Dean parked in front of the roadside diner that had a sign for coffee about the size of the entire front of the place, as well as a blinking sign for VACANCY as a motel was attached to it. The shared parking lot was shoehorned in by the diner and the L shape of the motel. In front of which locals were having some sort of yard sale, as far as Cas could tell.

He squinted over at the tables as he got out of the car. People were milling about. It seemed it was a weekly thing. He gestured to the inviting scene - curious to explore it, but Dean frowned at him to get the hell outta here, before he walked up to and promptly disappeared through the door of the diner. Cas lingered in soft annoyance, but followed.

Dean was already eyeing the menu when Cas took the seat opposite.

“I thought we were just getting coffee.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hungry.”

“We just had lunch a few hours ago.”

“Cas, you stop at a diner, you gotta eat. Road rules.”

“How many diners between here and Harding?”

Dean looked innocent, not taking his eyes off whatever he was already devouring in his head.

“Probably a lot. Look, they have excellent burgers here. I want one, alright, easy as—… oh, they’ve got some seriously berry blueberry pie, man, it is… I mean, just to… let you know,” Dean’s attempt at instilling some enthusiasm began with a smile, which now promptly died on his face. Cas disliked it, knowing he was the cause of it even before Dean finished: “Alright, that’s it, why are you being so damn grumpy? I didn’t twist your arm or anything, right? You wanted to come along.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said, feeling regret bloom in his chest and he knew his face showed it, but there was also a new kind of heat rising under his skin, having Dean observe him this intently, and it made him reach for the second menu, locking his eyes on that instead of on the man across from him. “I think I’d like the blueberry pie.”

“And coffee,” Dean said, a small smile on when Cas’ eyes met his again.

Cas returned it.

“And when we’ve eaten we go check out the yard sale,” Cas stated, brokering no argument, reaching for Dean’s menu and handing them to the waitress, who’d just joined them and whose nametag announced she was called Lois. 

“Oh, they’ve got some great stuff,” she chirped with a wide smile. 

“Do they have clothes? I need clothes,” Cas said.

“They surely do, sir. All hand me downs, you understand,” she added, sincerely, and he nodded with a smile, both of them ordering and Lois promising to come back with their order in a jiffy.

“Pert,” Dean commented, eyeing Cas for a beat before he added: “Need clothes? What, my rags not good enough for you anymore? Seem to have been working fine for, what, a month now?”

“Yeah, it has, but then you asked me if I planned on getting my own wardrobe, so I just assumed you didn’t feel the arrangement was all that agreeable,” Cas remarked and Dean flat out stared at him in a way that never failed to make Cas feel weirdly awkward in his own skin.

“Yeah, okay, I doubt I said ‘wardrobe’,” Dean finally commented, clearing his throat lightly as Lois came back with two cups of coffee and another beaming smile for both of them.

“You’re right,” Cas said, edge out of his voice. “I can’t keep borrowing clothes from you, Dean, or from Sam.”

“Second hand, though?”

“Yes,” Cas replied firmly and Dean rested his eyes in his for a long moment before he smiled again. “What?” Cas asked, but Dean just shook his head and drank his coffee.

*

There was something about driving towards a destination that Dean had always liked. Maybe because he knew how long it should take him to get there, and he enjoyed beating the clock, pushing Baby to perform to her best ability, rather than driving her idly from place to place, waiting for a case to drop. In the earlier days there’d been a lot of driving without any real direction. John had sometimes kept them on the move for weeks on end, jumping randomly between places, checking the curtains at whatever crummy motel they were staying in and muttering non-replies if Dean noticed and dared ask. 

Dean pulled his hand down his face, digging his fingers into his eyes.

“Want me to drive?” Cas asked.

There was no circumvented questions, no wondering if he was tired, no gentle nudging to have him admit that he didn’t sleep more than three hours the night before, just that simple, straight query that got right to the point. Dean looked over at him and felt quiet gratitude to have him in his life, to have him there, that he’d agreed to come along even though Dean could tell Cas wasn’t over the attack, not by a mile, and the urge to reach out and offer quiet support, the way Cas always offered it to him, was so strong he pressed down his foot on the brake instead, pulling Baby over as he said a short:

“Yeah.”

They got out and switched places, both of them slamming their door shut at the same time, Cas turning the ignition, then pausing, looking over at him saying:

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the back?”

Dean glanced at the backseat and had the sudden, unwanted memory of what that backseat had born witness to enter his mind, and how once he had briefly allowed the blasphemous desire for Castiel to move through him, terrifying and unbearable and immediately snuffed out, like putting two wetted fingers to a burning candle, smoke dancing on the air, leaving faint traces of scent behind. He had gotten so good at ignoring it, at simplifying it, at writing it off as stupid fantasy that he’d kept missing the important part. The part where he felt like he’d been a traveler all his life, and finally he knew where the fuck he’d been going all those years.

“I’m good here,” he replied, shifting around to underline he could get comfortable in most places.

Cas pulled back out into the road, rolling the driver side window down, crooking his arm and resting it casually against the doorframe, eyes on the landscape ahead. Dean watched his profile for a few greedy seconds before he closed his eyes and drifted off, knowing Cas would most likely change the music and he’d wake up to the news, people deep in discussion or the twenty-four hour hip hop station that Cas was always insisting they listen to. 

It was none of them. He woke three hours later and Cas was quietly doing a half-assed job with the lyrics to A-YO. Dean could never switch Gaga off so he left it, but refused to sing, mostly because he was disappointed that he’d been wrong in how self-assuredly he’d thought he had Cas all figured out, blinking sleep out of his eyes and telling Cas to pull over so he could drive the last hour.

*

The road dipped down and was gradually flanked by two rising hills, snaking between them until they flattened out into dense woodland, the asphalt dotted with sunlight struggling to cut through the thick pine until it gave way for a few miles of dirt road, taking Baby to a gate that declared the property beyond it being private. It took a minute after Dean texted Jesse for the gate to give a soft rumble as it swung open to let them in. They drove for another few minutes, the trees thinning out until there was tall grass and stretching fields on either side instead, and not too far in the distance sat a large, two-story ranch house, complete with a large barn to one side and a paddock to the other.

They rolled to a halt outside the barn door, which stood open, revealing total blackness inside, but what had both of their attention was the expanse of sky, the rolling countryside beneath it and, once Dean switched off the engine, the immediate quiet. It had been a while since either of them had been out of areas that, compared to this, seemed over-populated, and it was as though they’d been holding their breath and now, finally, got to exhale it. They shared a glance. They both felt it. Dean had to smile at it as he opened his door and stepped outside, Cas following suit as Jesse emerged from the darkness of the barn, wearing a big smile in return.

“There he is,” Dean said with a laugh as the men converged on Cas’ side of the car, Jesse and Dean embracing before Jesse took Cas’ hand in a firm grip. 

“Good to see you. Both. Thanks for coming,” Jesse said.

“No, no, don’t even mention it,” Dean shook his head. 

“You know we’d handle it ourselves, but this is a small community and we’re already, you know, standing out, so we thought we’d call in some backup and let you guys do your thing.”

“Say no more,” Dean reassured with another smile, the front door of the house opening and Cesar sticking his head out with a frown and a call for them to get their asses inside already.

*

The house was decorated in warm colours, broken up with rough wood details, bold patterns and local artwork. One painting in particular caught the eye as it could be seen from the hall, taking up half a wall in the inviting living room: a black and white dream catcher on white canvas, looking as though its feathers were softly blowing in an unseen wind. Cesar explained he bought it for Jesse a few years back, and Jesse freely admitted it was because he suffered from night terrors. It was on and off, but sometimes it got really bad. 

“Don’t worry, guys,” he added with a smile, “these are quiet times.”

Dean and Cas smiled at that, but they shared a glance, everyone in the room growing aware of how they all had their fair share of nightmares to battle. 

Cesar and Jesse brought them out of the moment, leading Dean and Cas down a short hallway and up a set of stairs to the second floor, where Jesse pointed out the door to the master bedroom before Cesar said:

“And you’re down here,” leading them down a second corridor, which cornered to the left and ended in an open door, taking them into a spacious guest room. “Sorry there’s only the one bed,” he added.

Dean felt something heavy pressing in on his ribcage, like two large hands were squeezing in on both sides, cutting off his air supply. Strangely he hadn’t asked or even thought about what the sleeping arrangements would be. He’d accepted the invitation in a heartbeat and thought what Cas needed was fresh surroundings and steady people, to work through it all, to see a new side to it all. All of it. He just hadn’t thought, for the briefest fucking moment, that new sides would include this.

“That’s… okay, I’ll just sleep on the couch,” Dean said, unthinking.

Jesse and Cesar both sucked air in through their teeth, shaking their heads as if he’d just said he was going to climb a mountain without oxygen.

“It’s been dubbed the back-breaker, but, hey, it’s only your spinal chord, right?” Cesar asked and he and Jesse shared a laugh, while Dean’s mouth began to dry up unpleasantly. 

“It can’t be that bad,” he forced a smile, raising an eyebrow at Cas, looking for support, but Cas was frowning at him in that frustratingly non-plussed way, so there was no help to be had there whatsoever. “Or I’ll just sleep in the car,” he murmured and suddenly the atmosphere changed from jovial to softly awkward.

“Oh, um,” Jesse said haltingly. “I mean, you’ve… slept in the same room before right? Hunting? Didn’t I tell you we should’ve ordered a mattress?” he demanded of Cesar. “We’ve been meaning to get one of those big blow up mattresses for ages,” he explained to Dean and Cas.

“Dean,” Cas said, bringing his bag up to the bed adding: “It’s big enough to share.”

It was meaningful enough for Dean to know that Cas had understood that Dean was making their hosts self-conscious and guilty about only having one bed on offer, and Dean swallowed down the misgivings as he smiled and shook his head that yeah, of course, he just wasn’t used to sharing and it just wasn’t what he was used to so he’d just thought maybe it’d be better if he found another place to sleep but sure, yeah, sharing. Great stuff.

Cesar and Jesse gave him a smile before leaving them to unpack and settle in before dinner. Have a shower if they wanted - the bathroom was just down the hall. There were towels in a chest of drawers by the door and shampoo and conditioner and all that in the shower, they could help themselves. Dean watched as the door closed behind them.

“It’s like Club Med,” Dean said, Cas’ brows furrowing and he shook his head, but Cas stubbornly watched him until he said: “It’s a rich people thing. It’s an old joke; doesn’t even track these days so just relax, alright?”

“I’m not the one who’s not relaxed,” Cas said, apparently done rummaging around in his duffle bag and unceremoniously dropping it on the floor by his side of the bed, his right hand going to his left shoulder briefly, clearly in pain.

“You need another dose for that,” Dean said and Cas hummed, back to him, looking out the large window at the horses grazing in their enclosures, the setting sun beginning to paint the grass orange and the sky pink and it was creating some sort of halo around him and Dean looked away.

Dean dug out his bag of toiletries, getting a few advil out of their packet and bringing them over, holding them out to Cas, who finally took his eyes off the view and looked at them, accepting them with another hum, placing them on his tongue and swallowing without hesitation.

“Ready?” he then asked, not waiting for a reply from Dean as he walked up to the door, opened it and disappeared through it. 

*

“And he was just sitting there?” Cas asked, Cesar and Jesse sharing a look before Jesse nodded.

They all burst out laughing, sat at the large wooden dinner table that looked too heavy to not have been hand-crafted on the spot, their plates scraped clean of Cesar’s cooking and all of them with a few beers in their belly.

“All he said was hello,” Jesse said with a warm look at his husband that made Cas smile a little ruefully into his beer, taking the last mouthful.

“Another?” Cesar asked and Cas shook his head while Dean tilted his almost empty bottle to suggest his answer would be different, Cesar nodding and getting to his feet to grab another round.

“So what about the case?” Dean asked as Cesar came back, twisting the top off and handing Dean the bottle. 

“You know the basics.”

“Sure. One vic, none of the usual suspects, but there were puncture marks?”

“Little ones. A row of ‘em along the hairline on her neck, the sheriff said.” Off of Dean and Cas’ wondering looks how that came about he added: “She talks to me sometimes, I’ve helped her out on a few cases. The EMT certificate comes in handy, you know, makes it more believable I’ve seen weird shit.”

Dean smiled in understanding, nodding.

“So we’ve done some groundwork,” Cesar said.

“Yeah, I figured,” Dean replied. 

“We’ve not got a lot of access to lore here, so we’ve not been able to narrow it down in the creature feature department,” Jesse said, “but it’s definitely supernatural.”

“How so?” Cas asked.

“Because two months ago our vic was diagnosed with cancer and when she died, that cancer was gone. Not in remission - gone. Without a trace,” Cesar replied.

Dean frowned.

“So something… fixed her, and then killed her?”

Cesar raised his eyebrows meaningfully, taking a swig of his beer.

“Either that, or something healed her, something else killed her,” Jesse suggested, Cas nodding slowly.

“Sounds like a miracle worker? Maybe something went wrong.”

“What, angel territory, you mean?” Dean asked and Cas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 

“No hexbags, anyway,” Cesar said.

“Well, thank Heaven for small favors,” Dean muttered, Cas’ mouth quirking into a half smile that, when he caught sight of it, made Dean swallow the rest of his beer and get to his feet, grabbing the empty bottles off the table before he swiftly disappeared into the kitchen. 

*

There was a line drawn by the light falling out of the large windows of the house, a line drawn in the sandy dirt and beyond it lay complete blackness. It really did feel complete, as if all Cas had to do was reach out his hand and he wouldn’t touch air, but velvety softness. He followed the line of light, walking slowly, eyes going to the kitchen window when he heard laughter, seeing Dean throw his head back at something Jesse had said. They were doing the dishes. Their comraderie made Cas smile.

He turned his back to the house, closing his eyes and breathing in the chilly night air, wondering what would greet them tomorrow, wondering about the puncture marks on the victim. Her name had been Marisol Alvarez. She had been twenty-two years old. He tried to grasp at that number, but couldn’t. Age was such a foreign concept to him. The human idea of time was still difficult to wrap his head around, no matter how many years he’d spent on Earth, dealing with it on a daily basis, existing within its confines. Twenty-two years still seemed like nothing to him. Like barely enough time to take one breath, but Marisol had been a child that had almost reached adulthood. That was something, and yet not nearly enough. So young. Barely formed.

He breathed in another lungful of air, letting it out slowly.

Mary had told him to do that, whenever the impressions began to hoard in on him. The thoughts and the emotional responses attached to them sometimes growing overwhelming. He’d experienced it during his first time as a human as well, and he remembered it well, the conflict it created and the uncertainty that followed, but remembering didn’t make it any easier this time around. 

_Breathe_ , Mary had said, one hand between his shoulder blades and one hand over his heart. _Breathe through it._

It was different to what he’d felt when still graced. That uncertainty and hesitancy, that self-doubt and confusion was of the same current, and yet came at a different intensity now, as if before there’d been a dam actually walling him off from himself. He supposed there had been, in a way. Or perhaps he’d put it there himself. Out of fear for what it would mean if it wasn’t there.

One breath in. One breath out.

 _You think too much_ , Bobby had grumbled when he’d tried to talk to him about it. 

As humans tend to do, Cas had almost added, but had stopped himself just in time, learning to read the signs for when Bobby was done talking, which was him bluntly occupying himself with something else.

Cas smiled suddenly at the memory, a feeling of contentment spreading through him. At being home.

He opened his eyes, taking in the vast, unfathomable depth of the star-studded blackness above. 

Space, with all its waiting life still in the process of waking, and all its waking life, some in the process of dying. Once he had been able to hear the echo of them, feel the stir of them through the fabric of creation. His smile widened at how deeply his knowledge ran in some ways, and how shallow it ran in others.

Dean’s laughter drifted out to him again. That deep rumble of happiness and Cas felt a familiar pang of longing resonate through him. He’d felt it for as long as he’d known this infuriating, challenging, inspiring human being. He’d felt it long before he was able to recognise it. The contentment dissipated as a soft swirl of frustration moved through him at not knowing what the hell to do.

“Hey,” Cesar said, joining him, digging his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans as he took in the view. “Stargazing, huh? I used to do that as a kid.”

“Yeah?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah. Always wanted one of those big telescopes, you know? Never got one,” he smiled, glancing at Cas, then back at the stars. “That’s the Little Dipper,” he pointed. “Do you know any?”

Cas squinted at the constellations. 

“Only in Enochian,” he admitted, regretful, but Cesar just laughed, clapping a hand on Cas’ shoulder and giving him an encouraging shake.

“You’re not a stargazer, my friend, you’re a starwalker,” he winked at him. 

The soft sound of a horse’s hoofs on the ground made them turn to the nearest field, where the large black shadow of an impressive animal moved in the darkness.

“She wants to say hello,” Cesar said, stepping out of the light and walking into the darkness beyond.

Cas followed until he was standing next to Cesar by the wooden fence surrounding the field, the horse coming up to them without hesitation, pressing a large forehead against Cesar’s hand before nudging him gently. 

“I usually bring her good stuff. Carrots, apples, you know, that sort of thing. Too late now, tesoro,” he told the horse gently, giving her forehead a good scratch instead. “She’s a good girl, this one. Very chill. Very relaxed. _Es cierto, mi vida. Si_ ,” he said gently, scratching behind her ears. “She likes Spanish,” he explained with a smile that translated even through the dark and Cas returned it, reaching out in the shadows for the horse’s broad neck, touching softness that was surprisingly warm.

He flattened his palm against it, feeling a strange connection to this living thing that he couldn’t even see properly.

“Her name is Iris,” Cesar said, Cas stroking his hand gently up to the powerful jaw, scratching her tryingly.

“Hello, Iris,” Cas greeted. “ _Encantado de conocerle_ ,” he added and Cesar chuckled.

*

Dean tried to spy where Cas had gotten off to. One minute he was standing in the light outside with his back to the house, talking to Cesar, and the next he was gone from sight. Dean figured Cesar was showing him something, but he felt the sudden departure like a gnawing worry in the middle of his chest. One that had been with him since the night of the nest raid, when they’d brought Cas home to the bunker, bleeding and weak and human through and through which meant mortality which meant death, if they didn’t think twice or fifty times before heading into dangerous fucking situations.

His movements drying the plate became irrate before he nearly slammed it down on top of the others, getting Jesse’s eyes on him.

“Everything okay?” Jesse asked.

Dean grabbed the washed plate Jesse handed him.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Fine.”

Jesse didn’t push.

*

Dean was in the middle of pulling his T-shirt over his head when Cas entered the guestroom, closing the door behind him as Dean discarded the T-shirt and started digging around for a fresh one to sleep in, unsure of why exactly he needed a fresh one and getting annoyed with himself for taking off the old one - it was good enough to sleep in - but now feeling stupid if he put it on again, finally thinking fuck it, grabbing it and pulling it back on as he heard Cas start to remove his clothes, the belt buckle jingling as it was undone.

“So, um, are you showering or?” Dean asked, grabbing his toothbrush.

“No,” Cas said. “I’m too tired.”

Dean glanced at him as Cas reached back and started yanking his T-shirt over his head as well and at the flash of skin Dean moved to the door, lingering for a breath, about to declare he was leaving the room, but thinking better of it, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him with a click, breathing out the breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding.

It wasn’t like it was the first time he saw Cas without his clothes on, but it had never been in the context of him being in the room with Cas while he was removing said clothes right the fuck in front of him as they got ready for bed.

And now he was still somehow left feeling like a coward for not simply facing the situation head on, like a damn adult, and seeing it in the innocent light of friends sharing a bed. It was just that the physical reaction to Cas getting undressed had been immediate and he hadn’t been able to control it, still feeling the flush across his skin, the self-consciousness making him askew with deepening misgivings of the previously unexplored stress to the system that he was about to have to face down, sleeping an armslength from a man he couldn’t quite keep himself from finding no-reason reasons to touch.

He straightened his back, telling himself to calm the fuck down. His brain responded with immediate images that made his pulse escalate.

Fuck.

He should’ve slept in the damn car.

*

Cas shifted position, letting out a soft huff.

“Dude,” Dean said and Cas stiffened.

He’d thought Dean was asleep already.

“Sorry,” Cas mumbled.

“What’s eating you?” Dean asked. “Come on, something’s crawled up your ass, you’ve been in a mood since we left home,” he added when Cas kept quiet. “Talk to me.”

Cas felt the tension melt at that turn of phrase, only hesitating now because of how to word it.

“She was so young,” Cas finally said. “Marisol Alvarez.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Dean agreed. 

“I know how it works,” Cas said. “I mean, I know the mechanics of death, but… it seems so unfair that someone who’s just… started…”

“Hey, when it’s your time,” Dean said simply, but Cas could almost feel the weight of the thoughts he was holding back and he nearly reached out in the darkness of the room for Dean’s hand, choking the impulse in the blink of an eye, but suddenly increasingly aware of how close Dean was and how they were both lying down in a bed together for the first time, and how maybe the idea of one of them sleeping in the car hadn’t been such a stupid one after all.

“Cas?” Dean said. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? We’ll find whoever killed her. Stop it happening to anyone else. Alright?”

“Alright,” Cas murmured, eyes on the ceiling before he closed them, ignoring how nothing felt quite right, because the space between them was like a physical thing and it felt wrong, it felt almost absurd that he couldn’t roll on his side and move closer without thinking twice about it, that he couldn’t fall asleep next to this man like it was the most normal thing for them to do, that he had to stop himself from taking his hand. “Dean,” he said, pausing.

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas hesitated, heart suddenly doing that thing where it started beating wildly, adrenaline coursing, and Cas succumbed to the warning signs again, succumbed to the fear in his chest and the gnawing misgivings that said if he did all those things, if he moved closer and if he took Dean’s hand in the wrong moment, before Dean was truly ready, Dean would make that space between them impossible to breach, and Cas would never be able to take back the moment that undid even the possibility of a different outcome for them. Cas swallowed, putting a smile on to make his tone casual as he said:

“I petted a horse.”

“That so?” Dean asked. “Tomorrow I think Cesar’ll make you ride one.”

Cas turned his head so fast to Dean that there was no mistaking the movement, even in the dark, but Dean’s deep laughter soothed some of it and soon they were chuckling. It was nice. Cas didn’t want to jeopardise losing it. Not for anything in the world. It was better this way. They’d always been good just like this. And Dean wasn’t ready, or Dean would be the one moving closer.


	2. They're Up To Something

Dean exited the local café with a shouldering of the door, coffees in hand, and slowed his step as his eyes landed on Cas across the parking lot, leaned against the back bumper of Baby, arms crossed, watching something at his feet. 

There was an inviting stillness about Cas in that pose, half-relaxed with one foot crossed loosely over the other, while appearing half on guard since the suit jacket did nothing to hide the broadness of him. Or perhaps that was because Dean had had first hand experience of exactly the kind of punches those arms could throw. He’d not shown it, but damn it if their training sessions hadn’t reminded him he wasn’t as spry as he’d been ten years or so ago.

Dean couldn’t keep the smile down, because whatever aches he’d undergone, he knew that Cas had felt them tenfold, unused as he was to pain.

Unwanted thoughts of teeth sharp and menacing, ripping through fabric and bearing down on flesh, blood soaking Sam’s lap, a needle threading to mend what had been hurt and Dean was moving across the parking lot in the following moment.

He was almost entirely certain that what had Cas enraptured would be a row of ants, busy with whatever ants do, and he smiled as he approached and saw the line of critters on the ground. Cas might still have aspects to him Dean didn’t know or thought he knew better than he did, but this deep fascination with insects was at least instantly recognisable. 

“They’re up to something,” Cas said, accepting the coffee Dean handed him without taking his eyes off the ground.

“Hey, live and let live, man,” Dean replied, getting Cas’ eyes on him, slight frown of inquisition on, but Dean just smirked and tapped their coffee cups together in a quiet toast to nothing in particular, or perhaps to his ability to still produce that quizzical squint. “Got the badges?” he asked and Cas let it go, digging into one pocket with a mutter, handing Dean his badge.

“Awesome,” Dean said, opening it up to check his alias, pausing at what he read. “Ashton Styles of… the Fish and Wildlife Service. Hilarious, Sammy,” he rolled his eyes, imagining Sam’s glee while making the badge and his answered prayer that Dean wouldn’t check the badges before he left the bunker. “So what’s our story?” he added, following Cas’ eyeline back down to the ants, Cas’ intent observation immediately making Dean put up a finger, saying, with emphasis: “No.”

*

“Here,” sheriff Nev Whitney said, placing another large photograph on her desk, adding it to the row of three that was already on it. “And here,” she finished with the final picture, all of them showing different angles on the back of Marisol Alvarez’s head, her hair swept up, her neck and its puncture marks exposed to the camera. “You can see them clear as day, right? But Janet - the coroner - can’t make sense of them. Or with the fact that she had a tumor the size of a golfball in her temporal lobe and there’s not a trace of it anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a slight smile in agreement of the outrageous question mark attached to the case. “And nothing like this has happened in the area before?”

“No,” Whitney said. “Trust me, I asked around.”

“We trust you,” Cas stated, glancing at Dean who glanced at him, both of them turning back to Sergeant Whitney, who was frowning lightly at them.

“What kind of fish or wildlife do you suspect to be the culprit here?” the sheriff asked, tone suddenly sharp as she eyed first Cas, and then Dean. 

“We don’t know yet,” Dean said earnestly. “But it’s most likely _not_ a fish,” he added, face lighting up at the joke, but Whitney remained deadly serious and his smile soon enough faded. 

“Could be ants,” Cas said, matter-of-factly, and Dean’s smile came back on his face as an attempted cover for the weirdness of that statement.

“No, no, it’s-… it’s not ants,” he shook his head at Whitney before turning a meaningful stare at Cas as he added: “We already went over the ants angle and I thought we agreed to ix-nay it.”

“Well, you agreed,” Cas said to that with a familarly obstinate expression on his face.

“What’s the ‘ants angle’?” Whitney asked, sounding increasingly ready to call for backup and slam them both in a cell.

Dean had no fucking clue what the ants angle was since all the discussion they’ve had was really contained in his one-worded rejection, so now he smiled as innocently as he could, about to open his mouth and lie as good as he had ever lied when Cas beat him to it, saying:

“We’ve witnessed a change in their behaviour over the past year or so. They’ve started moving in formation differently, building on opposite sides of trees, carrying pine needles this way, and that way. What’s with all the pine needles? What exactly do they use them for?” he said the last two questions as though it was the least unusual question in the history of asking them, before he finished: “Anyway, we believe that this change could be significant, a signal of… something much bigger afoot,” Cas finished, Dean plastering on another smile because he had no way out of that one.

“What do you think this ‘bigger’ is?” Whitney asked, sounding hesitant.

Dean drew a soft breath in through his nose, turning his head to his partner, waiting for the reply.

“Something, or someone, is causing them to behave irratically,” Cas said. 

Dean was actually rather impressed with the non-committal phrasing, raising his eyebrows as he turned his head, nodding a little, eyes back on Whitney. She, however, was frowning at them.

“What one or what thing?” she asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes, wanting to get in on the explanation, but feeling he’d mess it up as much as help out at this point, so he kept his mouth shut, watching as Cas leaned forward a little on his chair and said:

“What do _you_ think?”

Whitney tilted her head, unimpressed, but there was a sudden glimmer in her eyes that made Dean suddenly stare at her in soft surprise, because she was clearly beginning to respond to this approach. She glanced at the large windows, the blinds open to her colleagues outside. 

“I think everything is prone to adhere to the laws of nature,” she then said slowly, eyes going back to Cas, and Cas smiled a small smile.

“And I’d be the first to agree, but trust me when I say that my partner and I have dealt with many cases because they _broke_ the laws of nature,” he said.

“I could lose my job,” Whitney stated bluntly, eyes not leaving Cas’, and Dean was becoming so engrossed in whatever this exchange was that he’d completely forgotten he was meant to be Cas’ wing man in this scenario. “We don’t…” she trailed off. “We don’t encourage this sort of thing.”

“But you’ve heard something?” Cas wondered.

“No,” Whitney said. “I’ve seen it. With my own eyes.”

*

The three of them walked slowly, leaving the small police station behind and heading down Main, which was a narrow street, guarded by old trees, branches creating a thick canopy, while a handful of shops, a restaurant and the café flanked the street on either side, soon enough giving way for nice, comfortable looking houses, most of which either had impeccible gardens or gardens strewn with toys and home-built climbing frames. 

Cas noticed them because he’d already noticed the families, everywhere. Cesar and Jesse had said this was a quiet place, that it was why they’d chosen it. It lay a handful of miles from the bigger city of Harding, counting itself a suburb, but detached somehow from anything city-like. It felt like a community, contained and self-sufficient. Cas could see the appeal and, suddenly, longed for his room at the bunker; for Sam muttering to himself while making notes in the margins of whatever he was reading; for Mary humming while making breakfast - and that expected scent of burning toast; for Dean…

“…because… I mean, my grandmother would tell me things, you know?” Whitney interrupted his wandering mind, bringing him back to the moment and what she was disclosing. “But did I ever believe her? No! What, little helpers that come at night and essentially breaks into your house and, like, moves stuff around if they don’t like where you put it? I chalked it up to her either being too embarrassed, or too stubborn to admit she was forgetful,” Whitney said, Dean and Cas nodding in unison. 

“So someone broke into your house?” Dean asked.

“Well,” Whitney said hesitantly. “I mean…”

“Look,” Dean said, “my partner’s right - we’ve seen strange, _strange_ things. Whatever you have to tell us, we’ll have ten stories to make your’s seem like a day at the park.”

She eyed him, then looked at Cas, and it took another moment before her eyes softened pleasantly and she smiled at him. Cas returned it, noticing Dean observing them before Whitney turned back to Dean and said:

“It wasn’t really a break-in. I mean, it was, but… I heard the front door close, so… I went downstairs and I saw… this small… I don’t know how to… Like a little man? Only too small and thin to be a man. The best likeness I can think of is— have you seen the Harry Potter movies?”

Dean nodded. Cas furrowed his brows. Whitney smiled briefly, then said:

“Dobby. The house elf. That’s the closest description I can give you. Only his head was a human head. With hair and… eyes. I don’t know, he was sitting in front of the fire place, just… sitting there, looking so sad and alone… And I saw him there and he looked at me, like, turned and looked right at me with all that… sadness… and then… he was gone. Like that. And I found this.”

She brought out a note from one of her pockets, handing it to Cas.

Cas opening it.

“‘I’m sorry’?” Cas said.

Whitney nodded. 

“I believe it. If that little man had anything to do with Marisol’s death, he regrets it.”

Cas turned his head to Dean, who met his gaze with a thoughtful look on his face.

*

“Yeah, that’s right, yeah,” Cas said. “Thanks, Sam.”

He hung up just as he reached the car, getting in and closing his door, about to reach for the seatbelt when he noticed Dean had neglected to turn on the engine. Cas turned to him, questioning the lack of initiative on Dean’s part. The engine was usually on well before Cas ever had the chance to even reach for the door handle.

“How did you know the ants line would work?” Dean asked.

Cas rolled his eyes at him, at his slowly dying need to butt heads over the smaller details, but perhaps there was something nice about it, too. A soft show of professional pride that Dean wouldn’t willingly admit to, but that always made him curious to learn.

“I didn’t,” Cas said, staving off sounding defensive as he added: “Jesse told me he’s gotten vibes-…”

“Vibes?” Dean interrupted.

“Yes,” Cas replied, growing mildly aggravated in spite of himself, “vibes from the sheriff, you know, when weird stuff’s happened she’s seemed… open to it.”

“Oh, she seemed open alright,” Dean smirked, finally turning on the ignition and Baby roared to life.

Cas didn’t like his tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Hey, she’s cute in a domesticated sort of way, and she likes bugs so you’ve got something in common, _and_ if she’s your type then you should just go for it, man. Enjoy yourself a little.”

Dean expression was one of those knowingly encouraging looks that lit his eyes from too seldom seen places and sparked things in Cas that he was absolutely certain was exactly what that look was meant to spark, just not directed at the owner of it. 

“I _am_ enjoying myself a little,” he shot back, frowning in annoyance when Dean’s sudden, amused smile made the annoyance dissipate in a second.

“Yeah, okay, don’t overdo it there, cowboy,” Dean said with a light huff, but still smiling as he got Baby rolling onto Main Street. 

*

They went and visited Marisol’s friends, a group of bouncy, open-minded twenty somethings who smiled broadly at them and answered every question with earnest concentration, wanting to do their part in catching whoever did this to their friend. They had only good things to say about Marisol, although she seemed the kinda girl who could be summarised in a sentence of sweet and quiet, where she’d come off as reserved before the girls got to know her, and then she was just the most trusted, loyal, funny, bright… Of course, no one likes to speak ill of the dead, and Dean could read the hesitancy on them. That hesitancy usually didn’t equal killer instincs, however, not in his experience. There was no outright jealousy or cattiness, just not the whole truth of what they’d thought of her. 

They were told by the last of Marisol’s friends - Irina - to go see the owner of the magic shop on Main. That’s where Marisol had worked to make some extra cash. She was a student. Nearly graduated too. Just all so dreadfully sad. And Dean wondered if any of those women could stomach killing someone. His gut told him no, and he trusted his gut.

The magic shop was located at the end of Main Street and Dean pulled Baby into one of the two parking spots on the side of the building - two of a very few in the town itself. Seemed most people walked or ran everywhere, or rode bicycles. A town of health conscious and responsible adults, with children and houses and cars to house children and Dean locked Baby with a click, touching her roof briefly, kind of grateful Cas didn’t notice as he was busy leading the way to the shop entrance.

Dean watched Cas, walking a few steps ahead, the suit jacket folding in the dip between his shoulder blades as he moved one arm up to push the ornate handle of the door open, and Dean felt longing like a wave through his chest, and before he could stop himself, he’d reached out and placed his hand against soft fabric, and for no other reason than searching for some sort of allowance for his touch to linger, he found himself ushering Cas gently through the door.

Dean wanted to pluck up needed courage, lean forward, place his mouth closer to Cas’ ear and murmur an apology for being a jerk, and talking about hooking up like it was no big deal, when he knew it was, to Cas it was. To Cas, sex wasn’t just about scratching the itch for physical nearness, it was about connecting. At least that’s what Dean assumed, since Cas was such a disastrous flirt and seemed to balk at even the most basic approach of another human being, even now when he was actually human.

Apart from that one time, a week ago, when they were talking about Cas wearing Dean’s clothes and Cas had said something in a way that had been almost…

“Hello, my name's Summer, what can I do for you today?” a bright-eyed young woman asked from behind the counter.

“Hello, Summer,” Dean found his equilibrium quickly, touch already removed from Cas’ back, smiling pleasantly at Summer. “I'm Agent Styles and this is my partner - Agent Ketch,” the name made Cas, every time, make a slight noice of dislike in the back of his throat and Dean kinda had to hand it to Sam for the sheer genius. “We’re with the Fish and Wildlife Service - which is federal and that means national jurisdiction,” Dean took pains to clarify, “and we’re here to ask about…”

“Oh, I know,” Summer nodded, a hand at her mouth, eyes impossibly growing bigger. “Why you’re here, I mean. Because of… the murder,” she lowered her voice to a dramatical whisper, even though they were alone in the shop, and Dean shared a brief look with Cas that pretty much said this should be easy. “Poor, poor Mari. It’s so awful. I don’t even know what to say.”

“We have questions,” Cas offered. “That might help.”

Summer didn’t even react to the bluntness, instead she nodded, walking around the counter so that she could face them. She was wearing a truly lovely dress of flowing material, rings on every single finger and her hair up in a messy bun that suited her face. She was cute. The type of girl Sam would have gone for any day of the week maybe five or so years ago. God, they were getting fucking old.

Dean glanced at Cas involuntarily before he said:

“Marisol worked here?” 

“Yes, but only on the weekends.”

“And was she into the whole Wiccan thing?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“No, she didn’t believe in magic.”

“Oh,” Dean said, unable to hold back a soft: “That’s kinda sad.”

“I know right?” Summer said with a small pout. “There’s so much more to it than these hokey things we sell here, too, you know, like… spiritual stuff.”

Dean observed her keenly at that.

“Like, say, if someone got sick,” he suggested. “Someone you cared about, you could… magic it away.”

“With the right ingredients and words,” Summer nodded self-assuredly. 

“Did you gather the right ingredients and say the right words to take Marisol Alvarez’s cancer away?” Cas inquired, Dean not taking his eyes off Summer.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Mari had _cancer_?”

*

They were both quiet on the drive back to the ranch, lost in thought. Finally Dean leaned over and turned on the radio. He left it less than a minute before switching it off again.

“Anything?” he asked, unable to keep the impatience out of his voice.

Cas shook his head. He had no idea whatsoever.

“Her family is far away, so they seem highly unlikely to be involved. Her friend group seemed innocent enough. Guess you never know,” Cas said, rubbing his tired eyes, finishing: “I don’t know. We’ll just wait for Sam to get back with whatever he finds in the lore,” he said. “Start there.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured and Cas knew he’d hoped they’d be closer to the solution than this by now, that all it would take to connect the dots were a few well-placed house calls, meeting with the right people and asking the right questions. 

“Guess it might be longer than a few days,” Cas said and Dean nodded without replying.

That, and possibly putting themselves on the path of a more looming danger than Dean had anticipated. Dean gritted his teeth in silence, keeping his eyes off Cas and on the road stretching out ahead of them.

*

Jesse blasted Metallica on the speakers in the living room and Dean’s eyes were shining with joy as they both rocked out like they were fifteen, and feeling no regrets whatsoever about it, Cas smiling at them from the sofa, feeling the bass line reverberating in the seat cushions beneath him, when Cesar came into the room, shaking his hands at the noise and making a face that told both men exactly what he thought of it.

“ _Ay, amor_ ,” Cesar said, “I’ve been out all day doing hard labour and this is what I get when I come through the door?”

He was turning to walk back to the kitchen when Jesse reached out for him with a scrunched up face and a ‘hey’ and they met, melting into a kiss that made Cas stare without realising it, not daring to look at Dean. Cesar and Jesse broke apart with a smile, Jesse touching Cesar’s cheek fondly before they both grew aware of not being alone.

“Sorry,” Jesse apologised, not quite stepping away from his husband, who Cas noted kept a firm hold around Jesse’s waist as well, meaning, of course, that they weren’t apologetic at all, which Cas liked. The need to show care of others while being unapologetic about behaviour that there was nothing wrong in. Yes, Cas liked that very much. “Barely saw him today,” Jesse added.

“No, that’s—,” Dean stop-started, waving a hand non-committally and shaking his head. “We all do it,” he finished, immediately looking like he was mentally questioning himself and then kicking himself for that comment, but all it did was make Jesse and Cesar smirk at him. 

“Cas,” Cesar said and got Cas’ attention on him, “wanna help me make dinner?”

“Oh, um,” Cas said hesitantly. “Alright, I guess I can chop things.”

“Hey, keep the sharp knives away from him, okay, he’ll chop anything,” Dean said, pointing a finger at Cas as they left the room, Cas glaring at him, but Dean smiled widely and Cas almost thought he saw him winking at him, and then shake his head at himself, right before he disappeared from view, Cas leaving the sitting room for the inviting kitchen.

*

Jesse brought Dean down into the cellar, narrow stone walls leading into small rooms used for storage, one such room used for storage of a wide beer collection that made Dean’s eyes light up again. Jesse’s pride was well-deserved, and Dean slapped him in the chest in delight before he walked reverently into the room, picking up random bottles for inspection. He got to choose which bottles they were bringing up and got giddy like a child, slapping his hands together and rubbing them expectantly.

“Hey,” he said to Jesse when they’d put the bottles on the table in the dining room, “I brought some cold ones from home. Never got to drink them.”

“Well, that’s a travesty,” Jesse said meaningfully and Dean smirked, grabbing his car keys from the chest of drawers by the door and heading across the front yard to grab the cooler out of the back.

Once he had his upper-body halfway through the backdoor he noticed something sitting forgotten on the backseat and put it ontop of the cooler before hipping the door shut and heading back inside. Once there he showed Jesse the not as impressive, but not half bad contents of his beloved road companion, before he grabbed the plastic bag he’d brought inside and asked:

“Laundry?”

“Sure,” Jesse said, telling him the way and to help himself to detergent etcetera.

“Club Med,” Dean retorted, which made Jesse smile.

*

“Yeah, that’s good,” Cesar commended as Cas finished slicing a carrot. “Hey, you got some moves on you.”

Cas smiled.

“I wielded an angel blade for a few millennia,” he said. “It’s all in the wrist,” he added seriously, which made Cesar laugh out loud and Cas smiled too.

“So, how’d today go?” Cesar asked.

“We found out the sheriff is ‘hip to things’,” Cas said, moving the fine carrot slices to the deep pan Cesar was sautaying onions in. 

“Supernatural things?” Cesar asked, eyebrows raised high before glancing at the doorway. “Oh, Jess’ll be a treat to live with after this,” he muttered and off Cas’ expression explained: “He always thought she might be open to it.”

“And that’s _good_ , to be _open_ ,” Cas said, sudden soft annoyance rushing through him. 

“Well, it’s good for us, I think, yeah. Why’d you sound so defensive?” Cesar asked.

“Oh, I’m-…” Cas trailed off, trying to make sense of it himself, but remembering Dean’s jibe and saying: “Dean made it sexual when I meant it how you said it and I just…”

Cesar grew a little quiet, stirring the vegetables.

“Dean teased you about the sheriff being open because, why? She flirted with you?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas said. “She smiled. She was being nice.”

“Okay, so most important question then: did you like her?”

Cas felt like his hands were too idle and so he started tearing the lettuce, putting it in the bowl Cesar had already put out. He was an incredibly organised cook and would have dinner ready, if he was cooking himself, within twenty minutes. Cas had a feeling it might take a little longer tonight.

“No,” he finally replied to Cesar’s question. “Not how Dean… He’s always trying to…”

“Hey,” Cesar said with a smile, pushing the pan off the heat and turning to face Cas, “you’re straight up killing that lettuce,” he added and Cas dropped the last strings of leaf into the bowl, wanting to stop the frustration, but not knowing how. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“And said what?”

“That you don’t want him to, or need him to? That you’re a grown-ass man who can make a move when he’s ready to? Like that?”

“No, I haven’t,” Cas said sulkily. 

Cesar smiled.

“Why not? Maybe he should hear it. Stop him meddling.”

“He’s just showing he cares,” Cas said, Cesar’s smile widening as he turned back to the stove, pulling the pan onto the heat and asking Cas to bring over the meat.

“I think you’re right there,” was all Cesar said.

*

They laughed a lot during dinner, Cesar next to Jesse, Cas and Dean next to each other, opposite them, candles burning in the homely sitting room, warm rugs covering the ceramic tiles, a fire burning on the hearth, and music playing, set on low, from the speakers, something soft and jazzy and Dean felt the slow effect of the alcohol combined with the homecooked meal, and the company and the contentment, and he placed an arm along the back of Cas’ chair without thinking, leaning back on his own chair, relaxed, taking a mouthful of his beer - a fucking formidable thing from the Czech Republic - and getting up when he remembered the task he’d set himself, leaving the others for the laundry room to hang Cas’ new damn second hand wardrobe up to dry.

*

Cas brushed his teeth, taking in his reflection in the mirror, wondering if he was handsome. He thought he was fairly handsome, and others had told him so, but maybe that was why the sheriff had been smiling so much. Maybe she had been flirting and Dean was just trying to alert him to that fact. But then Dean had looked at him that way, and that had made his whole body react in ways that the sheriff hadn’t, so, no, he didn’t want to persue anything with her. He didn’t want to enjoy himself a little, he wanted to enjoy himself in full.

He spat the toothpaste out and turned off the light, opened the door and nearly stepped into Dean, who’d paused mid-motion of reaching for the door-handle. Their faces split in equal-sized grins as they stepped around each other.

“Just gonna… brush my teeth,” Dean said, unnecessarily.

“Yeah, I just did that,” Cas replied, just as unnecessarily, both of them suddenly awkward after the evening’s prolonged ease.

“Good,” Dean said and it made them both chuckle. “See you in there.”

“There?” Cas asked, a little confused.

“The bedroom,” Dean said, looking taken aback at the word he’d just spoken because his eyes rounded. “Not-not _here_. There. It was just— I mean…”

Cas smiled again, nodding and leaving, because it seemed simpler than continuing the conversation.

*

Dean glared at himself in the mirror. 

Get your shit together, he thought, brushing his teeth angrily, but smiling suddenly, because tonight had been so fucking awesome and perhaps he was a little drunk and perhaps his heart wasn’t beating steadily, but kept speeding up at the thought of sleeping next to Cas again. 

He was so fucking happy he hadn’t decided to be stubborn and sleep in the damn car like some idiot when all they had to do was sleep. 

Just having that steady breathing to listen to when he jerked awake at 2am had been enough to send him right back off. That hadn’t happened in… he barely knew. 

His movements with the brush had slowed and he met his eyes in the mirror again, serious he took the toothbrush out and pointed it at himself like some purple coloured weapon as he said through the minty foam:

“Don’t fuck this up.”

And he wouldn’t. Whatever else he’d fucked up in his life, he knew himself well enough now to trust that he wouldn’t fuck this up by rushing it, or misreading it, or wanting too much or too little. He wasn’t sure what Cas wanted, but he still had heat rush through him at Cas’ rebuttal of the sheriff thing and his statement of already enjoying himself a little. 

Don’t be selfish, Dean kept telling himself, but the fear ran so deep it was difficult to grasp at it and contain it and tell it to calm down. It had always been with him and it made it harder to recognise, but he knew he felt it, he just didn’t want it to govern how he handled whatever was to come. Because perhaps Cas didn’t want a long and happy life where Dean was included, but rather one separate, away from all the danger and blood and biting, and that was okay. It was more than okay. And awful and horrifying and the last thing Dean wanted.

Some logical part of Dean’s brain insisted, softly, that he was being ridiculous, and yet that fear slithered like a hungry snake and he couldn’t blame himself for not knowing how to stop feeding it, because he wanted Cas to stay with him so badly that it made it very hard to believe he actually deserved it. He had to want what was best for Cas. And only that.

He rinsed out the sink and picked up brush and paste, ignoring his reflection as he turned out the light and gently closed the door behind him.

*

Cas was on the phone when Dean came into the guestroom, closing the door behind him, Cas’ eyes meeting his as he spoke his agreement to whoever was on the other line: Sam or Mary, most likely. He was sitting in one of the armchairs by the large window and got up when Dean stopped by his side of the bed, both of them grabbing the covers and pulling them back as if it was a habit they’d engaged with for years. Their eyes met. Dean smiled his thanks, Cas returned it, neither sure where the need for the habit was even rooted since pulling down the covers wasn’t really a two-man job.

“Okay, talk tomorrow,” Cas said, hanging up. “That was Charlie,” he added, pulling off a sock and rolling it up in a way that made Dean, who’d sat down on the bed, pillow behind his back, ogle him. “She’s hunting a werewolf in Utah and wanted to ask about— what?”

“That thing you do, that sock thing, would you do that with my socks?” Dean asked, smallest smile on and Cas gave him a look. Dean raised his eyebrows, adding: “I really like how you get sarcasm half the time, and then the other half—“

“Of course I understand you’re being sarcastic about me rolling up your socks, Dean, look at the state of them - you don’t care,” Cas clipped, putting his second rolled up sock down on the floor next to his shoes before standing up to undo his belt.

“Oh, okay, and what do we do with our pants?” Dean pushed.

“Fold them,” Cas replied firmly.

“Look, I believe in keeping things neat—“

“And _I_ believe that’s what you’d call an understatement.”

“Yeah, look, see, I hang up my clothes, so the hell that mean ‘the state of them’?” Dean asked, suddenly feeling actually offended by Cas’ orginisation skills, but then Cas pulled his jeans down, stepping out of them, and Dean slipped down properly in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and digging his head into his pillow, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, feeling about thirteen years old.

“You started this, you know,” Cas said mildly, neither of them really itching for an argument and, for some reasong, continuing to end up in one in spite of it.

Dean wasn’t sure why, but the softly self-defensive irritation left his blood stream as quickly as it had entered.

“I know,” Dean said. “I’m sorry, man…”

He tried to pinpoint what he was apologising for. A lot of things. 

A helluva lot of things that he was beginning to think he should’ve done differently over the past month, like his choice of action rather than taking a moment to adjust to how best to handle Cas’ mortality, where he’d been able to only think that what Cas needed was to be equipped with survival skills, and insisting on starting up his hunter training sooner rather than later.

And the reaction, the need to know Cas could defend himself without a moment’s hesitation, had been entirely anchored in the pit that had been made in his stomach as he watched Cas streak across the sky like a falling fucking star, finding him in that hole in the ground, with embers still glowing all over him from the heat he’d generated, his face sooty, his hair on end, and not a breath to be gotten out of his body. 

The impressions of that had stayed, like an uninvited stranger, and Dean could see now, right now, considering the position he had brought them both into, that he was again pushing Cas to own his humanity rather than wait for Cas to show that he was ready, because Cas insisting to come clear out the nest had been all to do with the results of their training sessions, and Cas’ ever-present need to be useful, not from Cas wanting this, but thinking he should want it, because it was what Dean wanted.

Don’t be selfish, ran through Dean’s head again.

But in that crater Dean had felt a sense of protectiveness take a hold so strong it had been difficult not to succumb to it, not when it grabbed for him as Cas drew his first shocked lungful of air and reached for him, or so he’d thought. Cas had gotten hold of Sam’s hand first, as Sam had been kneeling next to him while Dean stood on the sidelines, immobilised and still praying, even when his loudest prayer had been answered the second Jack showed. And all Dean had known since that moment was that Cas wasn’t going to die, not ever again, on his watch.

But he also knew well enough by now that not all things were his to decide, that some things couldn’t be controlled, that not everything was on him. Perhaps he should trust in Cas’ ability to make his own decisions. Dean just couldn’t get the thought out of his head that his misguided attempts at keeping Cas safe was part of Cas’ decision-making, so how could he take himself entirely out of the equation, especially when that equation resulted in a shoulder wound that was proving slow to heal up?

Cas had changed into a T-shirt and a pair of old pyjama bottoms that Dean thought must be MoL assigned, sitting on the edge of the bed and plugging in his cellphone, and it was the second time a halo of light surrounded him as the light from the bedside lamp drew an outline of him against the shadows of the wall.

Just don’t regret it, Dean thought, but instead of saying it out loud he reached to plug his own cellphone into its charger.

*

“I’ve been thinking about sheriff Whitney,” Cas said into the darkness, knowing Dean was awake.

“Oh?” Dean said, drawing the word out into a sound filled with innuendo and Cas smiled in spite of himself.

“ _Not_ like that,” he clarified, Dean chuckling softly.

“What about her?” Dean wondered. 

“The way she responded to this being a case of a supernatural creature of some sort… maybe more people would respond that way. Maybe there’s even an opportunity in it.”

“Like what?” Dean’s voice was tinged with his dislike for change, but Cas wasn’t deterred by it.

He’d witnessed Dean change in many ways over the years he’d known him. Dean might beat against it at first and it might take him a bit longer to adjust and to accept, but sometimes progress was a good thing, no matter how painful the process.

“To expand the network,” Cas said mildly.

“What network?” Dean asked. “There’s us and then there’s a few more hunters and then that’s it. Hardly a network.”

“Alright, to start a network then,” Cas said, keeping his tone light.

“What, like the Men of Letters?” Dean asked. “I think we’ve seen how that goes.”

“No,” Cas said, “not like that. Not with monitoring and control. More like… working together, as a team.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean mimicked and Cas turned his head to the shadow outline of the man next to him.

“We travel all over,” Cas said. “And so do the other hunters. You, me, Sam - we hit a new town at least a handful of times a month. We could easily assess if there is someone in the local sheriff’s department who’d be… open. Like Jody, like Donna. We could make them aware. You have to admit, we can use every pair of eyes, and the sheriff’s departments across the country are already a network, with all kinds of _access_ —“

“Alright, jeez,” Dean interrupted, but Cas could tell his mind had begun to work through the suggestion as well, already weighing the pros and cons. “Have you talked to Sam about this?”

“No,” Cas answered. 

Dean sighed, but it was one of those thoughtful sighs that meant he was taking it in. Cas smiled to himself, for a second forgetting where they were, for a second feeling as though they were in Dean’s room, in Dean’s bed, and that this wasn’t one of their last nights having sleepy conversations.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. “Could work. I mean, we’d have to know that the person was open to it…” he trailed off and Cas smiled a half smile at winning Dean over, trying to not let the pride go completely to his head in ways that might lessen his impulse control.

Then again, when they walked into the magic shop earlier, Dean had placed his hand between Cas’ shoulder blades and if Dean could touch him, why shouldn’t he be able to touch Dean? He was just about to let his hand slide across the sheet and graze Dean’s arm when Dean turned over on his side.

“Talk more about this tomorrow,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Night, Cas.”

“Night, Dean,” Cas said, clenching his fingers into a soft fist and closing his eyes as well.


	3. Quiet Gestures and a Post-It Note

Dean came down to the breakfast table the next morning wearing a slight frown and asking Cas:

“You got my phone?”

Cas mirrored his frown, pulling the cellphone he’d obviously grabbed from his bedside table from his pocket and checking it.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, handing it over to Dean while accepting his own.

“My shoes…” Dean said. “You didn’t move them, did you?”

“No,” Cas said.

“That’s weird,” Jesse said thoughtfully. “When I came down this morning, the shoes in the hall were all lined up and the fireplace was raked out.”

Dean turned his eyes on him, then walked up to the fireplace as if to double-check it had actually been raked out, looking it over and straightening up, pressing his thumb to the one on his cellphone and placing it to his ear as he looked at the three men at the breakfast table with a:

“I know what we’re dealing with. Sam,” he said as his brother picked up.

“Hey, Dean, what’s up? I’m halfway through the lore on ‘little men’ but—“

“Yeah, you can look for this little man - a trow. T-r-o-w, pronounced trau—“

“Thanks, I know,” Sam interrupted, Dean hearing him shove heavy books aside, looking for the right volume. “How’d you like my aliases?” Sam asked over the soft rush of rustling pages. “Is Cas as pissed as he sounds?”

Dean smiled broadly, catching Cas’ eye and the mildly amused expression there.

“Yup, yup, better believe you’re in serious trouble,” Dean said, Sam sucking air in through his teeth in fake-worry. 

“Okay, here,” Sam said. “Why’d you think it’s this?”

“Because it’s Saturday and we woke to a fireplace you could use as a plate.”

“It was raked out?”

“Oh, it wasn’t just raked out, Sam, you should see the thing. It looks good as new.”

“Okay, I’ll scan this and email it. You’ll have it in five.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Sam said and they hung up.

*

Dean walked into the police station, flagging down Whitney, who was speaking sternly to a colleague about his appearance, the colleague looking chastised, scuttling off and correcting his tie pin as he went, Dean giving Whitney an impressed nod and she smiled at him, though not as brightly as she’d smiled at Cas, Dean noted, before she asked him if there’d been any news.

Two minutes later they were outside by a parked Baby, Cas having opened the folder they’d collected the printouts in, showing the sheriff the images of the trow - a slight fellow in gray clothes. She nodded.

“Yes, that’s him” she said. “Is he… dangerous?”

“We don’t know,” Dean said, just as Cas stated:

“He’s a fairy.”

“Yeah, we don’t know,” Dean said again. “From what we can gather, though, it doesn’t seem—“

“Did you say he’s a fairy?” Whitney asked, staring at Cas.

“No nipples,” Dean said. “Fully dressed. Sorry, that’s an inside— nevermind. This kind of fairy isn’t—“

Whitney suddenly smiled, nodding, and for a moment she reminded him very strongly of Donna. and he knew that Cas had been right, at least in his comparison of her with the other civilians that had been inadvertently brought into the life: that open mind of hers was going to get her through this just fine. He didn’t say as much though, but he glanced at Cas all the same, then cleared his throat and said:

“There’s no reason to believe he’s dangerous. As I was saying, this kind of fairy mostly enjoys a bit of mischief, like switching places of phones that are charging or untying your shoelaces and hiding them under the inside soles so you look for them everywhere and then when you think, hell, gotta wear shoes, you find them—“ off Cas’ look he stopped his quiet ranting and finished: “Anyway, what I’m getting at is the only way of finding out what’s happened to Marisol is to find the sprite.”

“What’s happened to her?” Whitney asked.

“Well, fairies are known for kidnapping humans and bringing them into their dimension, usually to serve a purpose,” Cas said. “They’ll leave a body double behind and, at least according to myth - we’ve never had actual proof in the lore… our research,” Cas clarified, “that body double usually perishes within a few days,” Cas said.

“So… she could still be alive?”

“We need to see the body,” Dean said. “To be sure.”

Whitney looked stunned, but made no protest.

*

“She’s not alive,” Dean said, thirty minutes later as they met Whitney outside the small hospital morgue where she’d taken them and where Janet - the resident coroner - had been most forthcoming.

Janet wanted to know what those befuddling marks on the victim’s neck were, and exactly how the cancer had been cured, as much as the next person.

“What?” Whitney asked, the stunned expression returning. “You’re sure?”

“We’re sorry,” Cas said.

Whitney looked stricken, but then gathered herself together, pulling herself up where her posture had sunk, and giving Cas a nod of thanks, forcing a smile.

“It was silly to hope, I suppose,” she said. “But that little man… That’s who broke into my house. And he’s sorry?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “The thing is that it’s possible this fairy can take human form.”

“Take it? Like a possession?”

“That’s more angels and demons,” Cas offered helpfully, Whitney’s eyes growing huge, but Dean didn’t have time to slow down as he unlocked Baby and looked at Cas across her roof.

“If he’s in human form—“ Dean began.

“—he could be anyone,” Cas finished.

“Anyone?” the sheriff demanded and Cas turned to her. “What can I do?” she asked.

“Compile a list of newcomers and any person who had anything at all to do with Marisol Alvarez - neighbors, the people she bought things from or dealt with in any way. We’ll start on our end and meet you in the middle.”

The sheriff nodded that it made sense.

“Wait, what’s your end?”

“Ants,” Dean replied, raising his eyebrows to Cas, who smiled as they both got in the car, slammed their doors shut and left the hospital parking lot.

It was a ten minute drive to reach their next stop: the forest beyond the city limits.

*

“Wow,” Dean said, eyes on the tiny black ants walking in perfect formation along the forest floor, all of them carrying something over their tiny heads. “I mean, I thought you weren’t serious about the behaving weirdly but, yeah, they’re— what’re they doing?”

Cas squatted down next to him.

“They’re going the wrong way,” he said. 

“So we follow them?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Cas replied, straightening up and heading in the direction of the ants carrying pine needles to some unknown destination. 

The pine trees stood tall, growing close together, blotting out the sunlight, the ground covered in moss and fallen branches, the undergrowth thick beneath their feet and Dean stumbled once, catching himself against a tree. Cas wasn’t deterred by any obstacle and marched on like he’d grown up among these trees, like he knew every knotted root and runaway bramble.

“Hey,” Dean said, jogging to catch up, “Slow down, Forrest,” he added, grinning wide. 

“He ran on the side of the road,” Cas remarked and Dean eyed him, still smiling with that warmth in his eyes and Cas gave him a look, but a smile was on his mouth soon enough and he shook his head a little before stopping and pointing at a big boulder five hundred feet or so away.

“What do you think?” he asked Dean, who had to admit it looked like the perfect place to host a possibly hidden from view cave, or grotto, or crawl space, at least - didn’t have to be big.

They cleared the distance quickly, Dean keeping pace with Cas this time around, and circled the boulder looking for an entrance. There wasn’t one. 

“We’ll need a spell,” Cas said.

“And the right ingredients,” Dean filled in.

*

“Well, I don’t know sprite from sprite, Dean Winchester,” Rowena scolded and he made a face at Cas that maybe he’d been right and Dean shouldn’t approach her with a request like he was expecting her to simply fix their problems. “I can’t just whisk up a spell for you like it’s an omelette waiting to happen. It takes finesse to do what I do, and you of all people should be well aware of that. For you to call on me like this when I’m—“

“I’ll do that thing you asked,” he interrupted her and she grew quiet for a moment.

“You swear?” she asked.

“Yes, I swear,” he murmured, avoiding Cas’ deepening frown by turning his back to him and moving from the kitchen into the sitting room, but, of course, Cas followed. 

“You swear on what?” she asked.

“On what?” he repeated. “Rowena, just take my word for it, okay? I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll have a spell ready for you by evening.”

“Yeah, we’re still waiting for the list from the sheriff so it’s really no hurry.”

“Enjoying yourselves, are you, boys?”

“Bye, Rowena,” he said, hanging up. 

He turned to face Cas, who moved his head and pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in an intrusively inquisitive way. 

“What thing?” he then prompted when Dean failed to actually respond to the expression.

“It’s nothing, it’s just a favor,” Dean said, sidestepping him and heading back into the kitchen.

“You’re not gonna tell me what it is?” Cas asked and the challenge in that question was clear, and somewhat incredulous, and for some reason it warmed Dean’s insides.

“She wants me to get her a book,” Dean said.

“On magic,” Cas assumed.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “She’s working with us now, it’ll be fine.”

Cas gave him a look, but Dean kept a stubborn face on until he had to look away.

“Dean.”

“Cas, this is how it’s gonna have to be and it’ll be fine.”

Cas backed off, but Dean could feel his disapproval and Dean knew he was right to feel it, but what the hell other choice did they have anyway? This was their currency. Backscratches. It’d be okay. They’d make sure it was. Rowena was behaving, she was doing good, she wouldn’t be tempted. He met Cas’ gaze and Cas watched him for another moment before he seemed to comply. The support filled Dean with immense relief, as always, and he smiled his gratitude.

“When the time comes, I’m going with you,” Cas said firmly, grabbing his cellphone before Dean could put up any type of protest and headed out of the room.

Dean watched him go, the tightness in his chest not quite letting up, a tightness that had been there ever since Cas accepted that first cup of tea, sitting on a chair in the library after they’d brought him out of the crater and back to the bunker - human. He’d taken a long bath - Dean hadn’t prepared it, Mary had - and had gotten fresh clothes - Dean hadn’t provided them, Sam had - and had accepted the tea Dean had made with a grateful smile. He’d looked strong then, not like the blood-drained pale imitation of himself that he’d been after the nest raid.

After Cas had switched on the tactical discussion the night before, talking about changing their modus operandis and changing it in ways that would mean a very slow, steady need for adaptation, from everyone involved, Dean felt a slight loosening of the knot in his chest, because Cas was invested. Dean shouldn’t doubt that. And perhaps Dean was blaming himself for what happened because he wanted the responsibility, thinking his own influence over Cas much greater than it actually was, or ever really had been. He wanted to be a solid reason for Cas to stay, and a part of him found it annoyingly sad because of the reliance it denoted, while another saw that it was natural to want to matter to the person you loved. Stupid, really. All of it.

Dean drew a soft breath, watching through the kitchen window as Cas stepped down off the porch and headed across the front yard towards the barn.

Dean moved in the opposite direction, walking to the back of the house and the laundry room.

*

“Nothing that you would’ve noticed, nothing at all?” Cas asked Jesse, who shook his head no.

“And we’ve had years of training,” Jesse said. “I mean, it sounds like this little dude can turn invisible or, like, show himself to the people he chooses, you know? So maybe it isn’t too out there why we haven’t noticed anything.”

Cas nodded. 

“You think he tried to save her?” Jesse asked.

“I do,” Cas said.

“So it’s a healing gone bad, then,” Jesse said, making Cas smile at his acknowledgement of Cas almost getting it right the first night.

Then Cas grew serious, reaching out to stroke the flank of the large stallion Jesse was grooming, and Jesse noticed his expression.

“What?” he asked.

“It was the one good thing about my grace,” Cas said. “That I could reach out with the power of Heaven and cure any ailment.”

“But you gave it up,” Jesse said.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed.

“Why?” Jesse asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Cas said. “I guess… to save myself.”

“From what?”

“From myself,” Cas said, unable to explain it better than that, but Jesse observed him for a long moment in a way that made Cas feel like he understood exactly what he meant.

“When we found my brother…” Jesse began, slowly. “That was like losing a part of me that had been with me for so long I didn’t know who I was without it. You know, he was my motivation, all those years, but, man, Cesar, he saved me from myself. I think if I didn’t have him I would’ve died in that cave with my brother, I would’ve burned with him. Love has opposites, you know? The love that saves is the one you want. The love that burns you from the inside out, you get that away from you, as far away from you as possible. Yeah?”

Cas stared at him.

“Yeah,” he then agreed and they shared a smile of understanding.

He heard the scrape of a hoof and turned his head to one of the boxes just as a bay coloured horse poked its head over the latched door, two large, brown eyes fixing him with something knowing in their gaze that made Cas feel sudden trepedation, as if the horse could see into the very heart of him and was poking at things he was trying to lull to sleep; old fears nestled in new fears, lurking like shadow puppets, just waiting for someone to shine a light and pull their strings, allow them to dance through him. He pushed the impression down with effort, because it kept resurfacing: that stealthy, awful thought that he wasn’t enough. He knew from experience that he would have to battle it again and again and so he preferred it when it slept.

“She likes you,” Jesse brought him out of his musings.

“I met her in the dark,” Cas said. “Hello, again, Iris,” Cas added, keeping his distance, but as she didn’t budge, watching him with some kind of gentle patience, he crossed to her, reaching out a hand and placing it against her large, rough forehead, scratching beneath her bangs.

“You ride?” Jesse wondered, walking over to fill a bucket with water.

Cas couldn’t keep a smile off as Iris pushed against his touch and began to aid in the scratching by moving her head up and down, clearly enjoying herself.

“No,” Cas answered. “No, I’ve never been on a horse.”

There was a note there that made it perfectly plain that he had no intention of getting in the saddle either, but Jesse just smiled at that, which said just as plainly that Cas couldn’t possibly come to a horse ranch and expect to not get on a horse. 

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” Cas tried to underline his discomfort.

“Looks like you catch on quick,” Jesse remarked, smile growing toothy and he laughed as Iris bumped her head against Cas’ shoulder, looking for further purchase.

Cas ran his hands down her neck, the sudden warmth and nearness and show of trust from the animal calming him, and yet there was the unwillingness in him to even consider climbing on her back. The thought of somehow controlling her feeling wrong and impossible in equal measure. His shoulder was suddenly aching. The wound was healing, but it was going to leave a scar. He excused himself, giving Iris a final scratch before heading towards the house. 

He needed a mouthful of painkillers.

*

When he entered the bedroom, Dean looked up from what he was doing, arranging folded clothes on the bed, and Cas glanced at him before heading up to the sidetable where the bottle of pills was standing. Cas opened it and shook a few pills out, grabbing the water bottle off the table, turning to Dean, who was keeping quiet, finishing his stacking as Cas swallowed the pills down with a mouthful of liquid. He was picking up on Dean’s stiffened shoulders. He didn’t look defensive, he looked self-conscious. It was a slight difference, but Cas had learned to differentiate between them over the years.

Either Dean was feeling guilty, or embarrassed. 

Cas furrowed his brows.

And then he finally noticed exactly what the clothes were that lay in neat, folded, ironed piles on the bed. They were his clothes. His second hand clothes that he’d painstakingly and stubbornly chosen for himself at the yardsale on the drive there. His clothes, washed and arranged like some sort of… whatever it was, it didn’t matter, really, because Cas felt something swell in his chest and he had to clench his teeth together as his eyes met Dean’s.

“You washed my clothes,” Cas said stupidly, because obviously Dean had done just that.

“Yeah, well,” Dean said in his maddeningly unceremonious way of acquiscing. “Saw them in the back of Baby and thought they could do with a wash so. And then you can’t really iron, you know, with the—“ he pointed non-commitally to the air near Cas’ hurt shoulder, eyes on the piles of clothes rather than the owner as he continued “—so I figured— I mean, hey, I just like to finish what I’ve started, so it wasn’t— it was almost more for me than for— anyway. Long story short - clean clothes.”

He said the last with widened eyes and an open smile that really was meant to underline how it wasn’t a big deal, but to Cas it was, and Cas assumed that he must look like he was about to say as much because Dean focused back on the clothes, still smiling, then his smile widened into showing white teeth, creasing the corners of his eyes in ways that made Cas feel a wave of heat rise through his skin, but before he could say anything, Dean shook his head a little, saying a quiet ‘yeah’ with another wave, this time at the clothes, almost as if he was recinding responsibility and handing it over to Cas, before he left the room.

Cas watched him go, wishing it was a simple thing to hug a friend, but it wasn’t with Dean, so he hadn’t followed the impulse to. Maybe it’d been too much anyway. Dean hadn’t handed him the moon, exactly, but the orderly piles arranged in shirts and T-shirts and pants and jeans felt quietly respectful and loving. Cas smiled then, shaking his head a little too. Why was this way of communciation always easier with Dean? Small gestures seemed to always speak volumes. Maybe that was why this felt like Dean had, in fact, handed him the moon.

Cas stopped by his side of the bed, reaching for the T-shirt on top of its pile, noticing a post-it attached to it. His smile widened when he read it. 

*

Dean took the stairs a little to fast and slipped half-way down, grabbing the bannister and catching his breath, steadying himself before walking the last few steps into the front hall, not wanting to think about the expression on Cas’ face moments before and not wanting to wonder if Cas was reading that stupid note right now and what his expression would be reading it.

He was handed a nice break as what met him in the front hall made him stop mid-step. 

Or rather than what, it was a who, and she was wearing a flowy, lovely dress of green in exchange for the flowy, lovely dress of yellow she’d worn when they first met in her magic shop, and she was now smiling tryingly at him.

“Summer?” Dean said.

“Hi. Sorry, the front door is never locked, I mean, I know Jesse and Cesar and I—…” she trailed off, biting her lip insecurely before adding: “I think you’ve been looking for me.”

For a glimmer of a moment her appearance changed into that of a small, spindly, gray creature, big-eyed and pointy-eared, before she glimmered back into the shape of a shopgirl.

Dean raised his eyebrows.

Oh.


	4. Healing Wounds

“I didn’t plan on doing any magic. I swear, I’d left it completely behind when I moved here,” Summer said, sitting on one of the sofa’s in the living room with Dean and Cas on the sofa opposite. “I mean, I wanted to be human. I wanted to live a human life.”

“So you opened a magic shop? Really?” Dean couldn’t stop himself.

“I know,” she said. “Should’ve seen it coming, huh?”

Dean smiled and shrugged in slight agreement and she looked like she relaxed a little, smiling tentatively back.

“You left your family?” Cas asked.

“Yes, my family, my community,” Summer nodded. “They’re stuck in their old ways, you know? I didn’t want to be stuck with them. And besides, I like the human realm better than the fairy realm. King Oberon can be such a dick.”

Dean couldn’t keep down a snort, glancing at Cas, who narrowed his eyes at him, Dean immediately redirecting with:

“Why’d you come seek us out?”

“Because,” Summer said, frowning as she looked from one to the other, “you’re here to kill me,” she stated. “You’re hunters, right? I mean, I stopped by two nights ago to check you out —“

“Oh, yeah, we caught that,” Dean said. “I think Jesse wanted to throw you a parade for the work you did on the fireplace.”

Summer looked a little sheepish, her fingers turning restless where she’d kept them laced together on her lap.

“Yeah, it’s a little embarrassing, if I’m honest,” she said. “Force of habit. And I don’t really get the door thing. I mean, I’ve lived as a human for eleven years and I still have issues with the door thing, like, hello, what’s the point? Anyway, yeah, so I felt I had to see if my hunch was right—“

“What gave it away?”

“I’m pretty good at reading people and you’re both too… open… to pass for strictly law enforcement,” she said, then couldn’t keep down a smile as she added: “And that Impala of yours is kind of famous.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up high and he glanced self-consciously at Cas, who didn’t move a muscle, but Dean was pretty sure he knew exactly what Cas was thinking. 

“So,” Summer continued, “hunters. And you’re as good as they say, too. Found my dwellings, or… whatever you’d wanna call them. Residence sounds too grand. My natural abode. Anyway, when I saw you there I thought, hey, before they come and, you know, kill me in my sleep, I might as well try to make a case for myself. Consider this my trial. And I plead not guilty, by the way, just so we’re clear. I didn’t kill Mari.”

Dean observed her for a few more seconds, taking in her earnest expression, then turned to Cas, who’s gaze met his with a thoughtful expression before they both focused back on Summer.

“Okay. We don’t just murder people,” Dean began, Cas glancing at him. “Without good reason,” Dean elaborated, giving up on defensiveness and asking: “So, what happened? You found out Marisol was sick?”

Summer’s smile vanished and something vulnerable took its place as she nodded slowly.

“She was my friend. She was a good person. The best person. So when she told me, I told her the truth about me, and I showed her a few things I can do and she…”

“She asked for your help,” Dean summized.

“At first I thought I should replace her with a changeling, but I couldn’t send her into that place. She wouldn’t be an equal, she’d be treated like entertainment or be brought into, you know, ‘eternal servitude’. She wouldn’t have been free. I couldn’t do that to her, even if it meant she’d live. But I wanted to help. I told her I wanted to, it’s just—…” Summer’s eyes welled with tears and one of her hands went to her mouth in her distress, making a fist, trying to control the emotions. “I warned her it was risky. You can’t just… walk around curing illness, you know? There’s a reason things happen the way they do. I wasn’t about to mess with whatever reaper had been assigned to her, like, no thanks, right? But I thought if I could balance the scales somehow. She knew it might not work. She knew she might die, and she asked me to go through with it anyway. So I did. And she couldn’t… The spell purified her of the tumor, but…”

“But it was still her time,” Cas filled in.

Dean shared another look with him. They knew very well how little Billie was allowing the books on her shelves to be tampered with. She was running an extremely tight ship these days. 

“I’m so sorry,” Summer said through a soft sob, her fingers drying her tears slowly, even as new ones formed and spilled over. “I never wanted her to die. But, turns out, it wasn’t up to me to save her.”

“Hey,” Dean said, “Marisol made a choice, and she trusted you had her best interest at heart, right? Or she wouldn’t even have let you try.”

Summer looked at him, then nodded.

“Thanks,” she said, sniffling. “Are you… going to kill me?”

Dean gave her a look and Cas leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he said:

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Dean gave Summer a meaningful look of how he indeed also did not think it would be, and she smiled again, this time in relief. It was brighter and a little of her bouncy positivity from their first meeting returned as she got to her feet, snivelling, but keeping the smile on.

“That was like benediction,” she said with a sigh. “It feels like this huge, huge weight has just gone whoosh - into outer space like this ball of black rock just swoosh - right out of my chest,” she added, Dean nodding as he rose as well, ushering her into the front hall. “Honesty really is the best medicine, isn’t it?” she asked as he opened the door for her. “You know, walking around with all that worry and all that fear—…”

“Yeah, agreed, one-hundred-and-twenty-one percent absolutely with you on that one, ah, hey,” he stopped her as she was about to bounce down the steps of the porch. “What’s with the ants?”

“Oh, that’s just my family making mischief. It’s how they show love,” she shrugged. “Only way they know how to do it. Mess things up. They’ll stop soon. They do it once or twice a year to try and make me go over there for a visit.”

“Do you? Ever visit?”

“No,” she said, “but I usually wait a week or so - so they get the message that I’m not just doing it because they’re nagging - and then I invite them over here for tea and biscuits,” she added with a wide smile. “They love biscuits.”

He couldn’t possibly resist her smile, giving a wave and she waved back.

“You want a ride back into town?” he asked when he couldn’t see a car that might be hers anywhere.

“Thanks, but I like to walk. It’s such a beautiful day,” she said, twirling a full circle, facing him again and walking backwards as she said: “You guys are pretty nice for hunters. I’ve heard some really horrible stories, like, _nightmare_ stories. I had a cousin thrice-removed who supposedly got blown up in a microwave oven, if you can believe it.”

Dean smiled, raised his hand again, and hurriedly slunk inside, closing the door quietly behind him, feeling guilty and still not quite being able to feel entirely contrite because that little glowing fairy lady had packed a damn punch while he was just minding his own business. It was _self-defence_.

*

Cas was in the kitchen, a pot of coffee almost ready to be consumed, four cups put out on the counter, his hands busying themselves with wiping down the sink, and Dean paused in the doorway, eyes on Cas’ back, taking in the scene, for a second feeling like this was their home, and their sink, their cups, and Cas was… looking right at him and so he smiled and entered the room rather than hovering in the doorway. Cas returned the smile with ease, putting the dishcloth down, turning to face him, crossing his arms over his chest as the silence stretched.

Why weren’t either of them saying anything? All Dean could think to say was to comment on the cups. They were new cups, he hadn’t seen them before. They’d been drinking out of blue ones and these were terracotta, everything in this house, though, seemed to have been made by hand. He sort of loved it. 

He didn’t say his assanine comment about the cups outloud, but it was all he could think of, so he simply stayed quiet. Waiting for Cas to speak. The quiet was growing oddly comfortable when Cas finally broke it by saying:

“Better call Whitney.”

Dean nodded, going into his list of recent calls and pausing his thumb, meeting Cas’ gaze, Cas raising his eyebrows at the annoyance on Dean’s face, Dean pressing the number and putting the phone to his ear as he readied himself for the onslaught of Scottish curses when he told Rowena they wouldn’t be needing her spell after all. He hoped against hope that she’d give him a break after he explained shit had gone down in ways that were completely out of his control, but he had a very strong suspicion that she would insist he get her the damn book anyway, since she’d held up her end of the bargain. He couldn’t even blame her. So fucking typical.

*

As soon as Cas heard Dean say “Rowena” he fished out his own cellphone and called Sheriff Whitney, moving out of the kitchen and into the living room. It didn’t take many rings before Whitney’s chirp was on the other end.

“Hi, this is…” he paused, closing his eyes as he finished: “…agent Ketch.”

“Hello, agent Ketch,” Whitney sounded a little amused, possibly at the formality, but he felt it was always wiser to keep things formal; he could never quite gauge when the time was right to be more informal. “I was just about to call you,” she added breezily. “I’m nearly finished with the list and—“

“Yeah, about that,” Cas said, regretful. “I apologise, you shouldn’t ‘ve gone to all that trouble. Turns out we won’t be needing it.”

“Oh?”

Cas went on to tell her about the visit from Summer, Whitney voicing her astonishment, but also her understanding, finally landing in a statement of how difficult it must be to not feel at home where you were born and raised, and that she was happy Summer felt safe enough to put down roots in their little community. Cas smiled then, the immediate compassion giving him sincere hope, which always was one of his favourite emotions, the sensation warm and all-encompassing.

“I’m very glad that you’re okay with it. Thanks,” he said, getting ready to hang up.

“It wasn’t a waste of time at all, it reminded me that I should actually be doing a bit more of the research side to the job, keep a keener eye on the locals. In this line of work, you slack off and before you know it there’s a stampede for the nearest ravine,” she chuckled and he chuckled too, though he wasn’t entirely sure that this was true.

Surely people didn’t just stampede for no good reason. He assumed she was talking about people. Perhaps she was talking about horses. Perhaps she was referencing possible poachers coming to try and steal horses if she slacked off, which could, if the horses were spooked, cause them to stampede.

He was thinking so hard on this that he didn’t catch the next thing she said.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“Are you staying in town or?” she repeated. “Because if you’re sticking around for a bit longer. I mean, or even for an early dinner? I wanted to ask… you… to dinner, I guess is what I’m trying to say.”

She laughed then, a delightfully hearty laugh, not taking herself or the situation too seriously, and he realised he did like her. He liked her ease and her confidence, her lack of fear in the face of all these new revelations, her acceptance of them as fact, which could only really mean that she’d always had a belief that supernatural elements of the world could very well exist and her logical mind had never fully dismissed them. It all made him appreciate her. But there was one big snag that prevented him even contemplating saying yes, and that snag was pacing in the other room, trying to keep his cool - and by the sounds of it struggling to - while still on the phone with a red-headed and outrageously powerful witch.

“That’s a wonderful offer,” Cas said gently, “but I’m afraid I’m… unavailable.”

“As in leaving town? Because if you’re ever in the neighbourhood—“

“No, I meant that my… my heart is unavailable. So it wouldn’t be fair to you… I’d like to have dinner with you, but I’m getting the impression that perhaps you’d like it better if I was… available.”

“Well, that’s not everyday you get turned down without feeling like crap about it. Hey, I hear you, alright - the heart wants what the heart wants. How about we have that dinner if you’re ever back in town? Strictly professional?”

“I’d like that,” he smiled, thinking he might’ve just made a new friend.

“Alright, good stuff,” Whitney smiled through the phone. “It’s been a blast getting to work with the Nature and Wildlife Society, who would’ve thought! And when we have that dinner maybe you’ll tell me who you guys really are, huh?”

“I just might,” Cas chuckled. “I’ll see you, Nev.”

“See you around, Lowell.”

“It’s Cas,” he corrected. “Cas Novak.”

“Finally,” Whitney laughed, “guess I’ve proven myself trustworthy.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, you know, I was hoping if you accepted my invitation to dinner I might get to pry you open - so mysterious, always irresistable to a cop,” she laughed again. “And those dimples. Alright, sorry, I’m not gonna make you uncomfortable, but know that whoever they are that got that heart of yours, I think they should count themselves lucky.”

He smiled again.

“Thanks,” he said before they both promised to keep in touch and hung up.

“I told you I would and I will!” Dean’s incensed voice came from the kitchen and Cas headed back in there with a look of sympathy, Dean throwing a hand out with an equally exasparated and aggravated look on his face when Cas entered. “Yeah. …I’ve told you that six times. No, _six times_. Yeah, well, _you_ suck at _hearing_ people.”

He took the phone from his ear, staring at it. Cas couldn’t keep a half-smile down as he grabbed the pot of coffee and started pouring it into the waiting cups.

“She hung up on me,” Dean said. “She’s - what? - three hundred years old and she hung up on me.”

He grabbed one of the filled cups, taking a deep gulp. 

“Fuck, we’re gonna have to go get that book,” Dean sighed and Cas smiled brightly, clinking his cup with Dean’s and allowing his eyes to linger as Dean raised his gaze to his. 

“It’ll be fine,” Cas said, though they both knew the varying ways that statement could blow up in their faces.

For some reason it made Dean return the smile, his eyes in Cas’ as they sipped their coffee and Cas felt like there wasn’t air between them anymore, there wasn’t space, there was something else. Like they owned it, claimed it together, and it wasn’t parting them, but keeping them aware of one another. It made him want to step forward, though, more than he thought he’d ever wanted to before, because the impulse was so bright in his mind, settling in his chest, in a breath making it seem like a possibility, like a necessity, even, to breach the gap and lean them back against the counter, searching for connection, burying his face against the soft skin of Dean’s neck…

“Guess we should head back home,” Dean broke the spell. 

Cas hadn’t even thought of leaving, of the custom of leaving when the job was done. How strange. It felt completely misplaced that they should have to give this up. Whatever this was, this quietude that had come over them, this sharing of non-shared space… It would go away, wouldn’t it? If they left. They wouldn’t be sleeping next to each other anymore.

“Why?” Cas said before he could stop himself. “We haven’t… gone out riding yet,” he frantically added as a weird excuse for someone who so clearly had been fighting against the mere idea since the night of their arrival. “I want to ride a horse,” he added forcefully, by way of avoiding any further questions, and left the room for the front door, a mug in each hand as he went in search for their hosts to bring them some coffee and tell them what he’d just told Dean.

No backing out of it now, was there? No. There really wasn’t.

*

The paddock was surrounded by sturdy, wooden fencing. Soft, dusty earth was kicked up with every new step Iris took and Cesar showed, with a gentle movement of the long whip he held in one hand, what he wanted her to do, setting her into a relaxed trot. 

Cas stood leaning against the fence, watching them, his skin hot from the sun, sweat beading on his neck and he pulled fingers over his skin to get rid of the slight tickle as one of the beads began sliding towards the neckline of his t-shirt. 

“See? Nothing to it,” Cesar said with a wide smile from the centre of the paddock.

“I don’t know about that,” Cas said, watching the powerful animal move gracefully, muscles rippling under her shiny coat. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at… controlling her.”

Cesar shook his head, smile not leaving his mouth as he made another slight movement with the whip, making Iris slow down to a walk as he approached her and she stopped in wait, accepting his hands as he ran them over her neck and over her back fondly. When he headed up to where Cas was standing, Iris obligingly followed and Cas figured Cesar had showed her, somehow, what he expected of her through body language Cas didn’t have the knowledge to properly see.

“It’s not about control,” Cesar said, stopping by Cas, resting his arms alongside Cas’ on the fence as Iris stopped in front of Cas. “It’s about respect. You respect her, she’ll respect you. It’s the only way into trust. Trust is key.”

Cas reached up his hand and scratched Iris’ forehead, smiling when she leaned into the touch, eyes blinking almost sleepily with the pleasure. Cas leaned forward a little to make certain she was listening and then said:

“ _Te prometo que te respeto_.”

Cesar laughed and Cas smiled as well.

“You’ll do fine,” Cesar assured. “Ready to give it a try?”

Cas hesitated, his smile faltering, and he began to understand why, because all he could think was of that moment in the back of the Impala, driving home from the nest raid, bleeding all over Sam, Dean’s taut expression in the rear view mirror and Dean’s assurance that he’d done good, and that feeling it had produced in him of gratitude, at the acceptance, at the acknowledgement of how he was a part of something that wasn’t only on him, that they were all in it together, but alongside that feeling had been shame at his spectacular failure.

His first hunt as a human had left him scarred, and he had turned that into meaning that his next hunt would most likely get him killed. Or further scarred. Unil there was nothing left of him to scar. And though he didn’t fear death anymore, he didn’t even fear injury, the truth was he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live a long life and experience everything life had to offer, because he knew there was more to it than he could even fathom, more to discover than he’d ever had the ability to fantasise about.

And his failure had made him doubt himself again, had sidetracked him from the strength that led him to choose to give up his grace in the first place, had blinded him into this state of searching for a way to ignore his fears, rather than look at them clearly. In trying to control them he’d stopped trusting his own judgement, thinking he’d made a mistake when he’d insisted on going on that raid, and managing to overlook the facts of how he not only had survived, but he’d also been victorious when he chopped off the head of his attacker.

Dean’s words that he’d done good had reached him, but he hadn’t actually heard them.

He smiled then, reaching up both hands to scratch Iris behind the ears, running his hands down either side of her neck, her head moving so that he could rest his cheek against her cheek, warm and comforting and he felt suddenly present in the moment, all the other moments fading away until the here and now was all that remained. All that really mattered. 

“Yeah,” he said, turning his eyes in Cesar’s, “I’m ready to give it a try.”

*

Dean put the onions in the frying pan, grabbing the handle and giving the pan a shake before putting it back down on the stove, reaching for the grated garlic and chopped chili, adding them to the pan as Jesse walked into the room, carrying a couple of beers and wearing a smile.

“Starting to smell good in here,” he said, putting one of the beers on the counter, Dean offering him an appreciative smile of thanks for the compliment and the beverage. “Sure you don’t want some help?”

“Hey, I said I’d cook dinner and I meant it. You and your guy stay the hell out of here. Go sit your asses down in one of those sofas in there, alright?” Dean replied with a stern pointing to the doorway, indicating the living room, which made Jesse tilt his beer bottle Dean's way before leaving Dean to it.

Dean gave the contents of the pan a stir and began to add the spices, enjoying the scents wafting through the kitchen, enjoying the craft of adding a certain amount of something to a certain amount of something else and watching it come together. It reminded him of putting a smashed up car back together again, making its broken exterior shine and its busted engine purr. He felt in his element doing these things, felt he knew how to combine flavors into an appealing plate of food just like he knew how to bring bolts and gears together into working machinery.

It was all about the end result, but he could never neglect the steps it would take him to get there, and knowing those steps, intrinsically, gave him a sense of calm. It always had. Excelling at something he knew he was good at calmed him, made him let go of everything else, all those things that were beyond his control. 

Funnily enough, hunting gave him that same sense of calm, even with the inherent danger. He knew the steps to solving a case, because he knew the ins and outs of hunting the same way he knew the ins and outs of a cracked chassis or how much blue cheese was too much blue cheese on a blue cheese burger. He just had to relearn, over and over again, that he wasn’t the only one to know the ins and outs of solving a case or catching the bad guy or thinking outside of the box or fighting off a threat or stopping the apocalypse. He had to remind himself that the people fighting alongside him were fighting for a cause and that they were fighting for that cause together. Even though none of them apart from him really knew how much blue cheese was too much blue cheese on a blue cheese burger. Especially his mother, that was for damn sure.

Watching Cas on the back of that horse earlier had been something else. Every time Dean thought of it, he felt warmth like something fluttering in his chest, like something so deeply sentimental he wanted to turn his face away from it, but he couldn’t, because it wasn’t in front of his fucking face, it was at the very center of him, and the only thought left in his head because of this fluttering was that it was going to be okay. No matter what happened, it was, all of it, going to be just fine.

He realised he was humming to himself, adding the stock to the pan, stirring slowly before adding the chicken fillets. He smiled, pleased as all hell with what he’d accomplished, and chucked the pan in the oven, raising his eyes to the doorway as Cas walked through it, freshly showered, nursing a beer and wearing the T-shirt Dean had stuck that idiotic post-it to earlier.

Jesus Christ.

Dean hid the blush, rising up his neck at an abysmally quick pace, by smiling and leaning against the counter, reaching for his beer as distraction.

“Smells good,” Cas said.

“Mh,” was all Dean could think to say, taking a mouthful of beer and tearing his eyes off Cas in casual wear, jeans sitting low on his hips and that T-shirt not really doing anything but accentuate his upper body and Dean feeling desire like a traitor burning through his veins, refusing to listen when reason said that Cas would, or so their history dictated, not be very likely to reciprocate it, that there was no point to feeling it, that yearning for something he could never have had never done him any favors and there was nothing, nothing concrete at all, to indicate that anything had changed.

Except that one time. And maybe a few times between. With Cas smiling at him like maybe he… But no. Better not to. Even. Think it.

“You looked good out there,” Dean heard himself say, eyes widening a little before he tried to cover by adding: “Earlier. Riding. Haven’t done a lot of it myself. A bull once or twice, but that’s not— Anyway. Chicken for dinner with that sauce you like. I mean, not that I know that you— I mean, I think you do. Like it. The sauce. You said you did that one time…”

Cas squinted and Dean trailed off into taking another deep moutful of his beer. Cas did the same, then said:

“So _you_ don’t ride?”

“Oh, I _ride_ ,” Dean stated self-assuredly and completely in spite of himself, staring at Cas for a moment longer before he gave up and turned to the already prepared rosemary potatoes, which he picked up and shoved in the oven, closing it with a bang much louder than intended.

Cas was observing him and he was beginning to feel it, glancing over at Cas before gesturing to the T-shirt. Dean had had it forever, bought it years ago in some music shop in some backwater town, as far as he remembered, the Led Zeppelin logo dark gray against gray, an angel spreading her wings wide. All a bit on the nose, Dean felt, but it wasn’t like he’d designed it and Cas had worn it more in the last month than Dean had in the last year, so he figured Cas didn’t mind.

“Thought you wanted that to sleep in,” Dean said with the gesture, unsure of why his brain kept saying the exact things he was trying most to fucking avoid even thinking about.

Cas tilted his head a little to the side.

“You yelled at me,” he said simply, Dean frowning at him. “When I slept in it that time, you yelled at me,” Cas clarified.

“I didn’t yell.”

“Oh, right, obviously you _spoke_ at me really loudly. My mistake,” Cas replied, tart as all hell and Dean gave him a look, Cas mirroring it instantly and Dean began to feel heat spread under his skin. “Besides, it’s mine now, right?” he said, eyes warming dangerously and a small smile on and Dean swallowed, a tremulous smile on as well.

“Yeah, well… yeah,” Dean mumbled incoherently, mind grasping for something else, anything, to occupy himself with. “You seemed to like it or whatever so yeah,” he added, looking around the kitchen and spotting the bowl he’d gotten out for the salad.

It was a bit early for salad making, because if he started now it’d just sit there and not be as fresh as he liked it, but fuck it. He could chop a cubumber. That he could do. He went up to the fridge and got the cucumber out, grabbing the chopping board and a knife, getting to work.

“Didn’t you just put the potatoes in the oven?” Cas asked, observantly.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“They’ll take what? Half an hour?” Cas wondered, Dean chopping away, humming his agreement. “You never start making the salad—“

“Preparation is everything,” Dean interrupted, holding the knife up at Cas, who raised his eyebrows at the gesture, Dean meeting his gaze, then looking at the edge of the knife, questioning the choice himself before he flipped the knife and offered the handle to Cas.

Cas narrowed his eyes at it, then looked at Dean.

“You don’t trust me in your kitchen,” Cas remarked, and the sarcasm was unmistakable.

Dean smiled sweetly then.

“This isn’t my kitchen,” he replied, Cas giving him a long look before he broke into a smile as well and accepted the knife.

*

Cas pulled the T-shirt off, shaking it out, eyes catching on the logo and a smile creeping onto his mouth. It had been a really good day. They’d had a great evening, enjoying Dean’s cooking and each other’s company. He liked Jesse and Cesar more than he’d expected to. They were easy to be around, welcoming, making him feel at home in their home. It was a good quality to have.

He moved his shoulder slowly. The pain was getting better every day and even riding hadn’t been too much of a strain, but he should change the bandage again. He undid the surgical tape securing the square piece of bandage to the skin of his shoulder, pulling the bandage off gently. The wound was healing nicely. Dean was extremely good at stitching and the scar was going to be neat, even if the wound itself had been anything but. He grabbed the antibiotic cream and was reaching back to apply it when the door opened and Dean came through it, hair wet from a shower, sweatpants and T-shirt on. He smelled good, Cas noted.

“Oh, hey, hey,” Dean said, seeing what he was doing and immediately coming up to grab the antibiotic cream out of Cas’ hands. “I’ll do that,” Dean added, placing himself behind Cas, fingers carefully exploring the area around the wound, checking the sutures and seeming pleased as they stroked a sudden path down Cas’ back, leaving off before reaching the small of it, but sending goosebumps over Cas’ arms at the unexpectedness of the prolonged touch.

He looked at Dean over his shoulder, but Dean was focused on putting cream on his palm. Another few seconds and the touch returned, this time Dean’s fingertips gently applying the cream. 

“You know I trust you, right?” Dean said quietly and Cas frowned. “I mean, the kitchen thing is just you kept… cutting yourself.”

“I cut myself _once_ ,” Cas pointed out.

“ _Three_ times,” Dean shot back, but his tone wasn’t sharp, and there was mirth there, laced with gentle scolding. “Within a week,” Dean added meaningfully, fingertips brushing still tender skin and Cas couldn’t help but grow fascinated at how his body was responding, his heartbeat heavy in his chest, his limbs tingling in anticipation of every new stroke, sending shivers of startling pleasure down his back. 

Dean had gone quiet, busy with his task, focused and meticulous. Then he was gone, heading over to the first aid kit he’d brought, getting a fresh bandage, returning and Cas realised he’d been holding his breath as the touch returned, Dean’s hands securing the bandage with tape, fingers dragging over each piece to make them fasten and Cas wanted to turn around, wanted to know if Dean was unaffected, wanted to know if Dean kept touching him when they were out working cases because he wanted to touch him when they weren’t, when they were like this, alone in a quiet room.

But Cas didn’t. Instead he said:

“Dean.”

“I know,” Dean replied, stepping away from him as his shoulder was all patched up. “Look, I trust you to have my back, is what I’m saying, okay?” he finally stated, and Cas turned to him just as Dean moved up to his side of the bed, grabbing his cell phone, self-consciously keeping his eyes on it, and Cas smiled a little, nodding before reaching for a fresh T-shirt, pulling it over his head.

He undid his belt, zipped down his jeans and stepped out of them, never having really thought much of getting undressed in the same room as Dean until right now, after Dean’s fingers had made him feel all those rather knee-bending things, and he turned his head to where Dean was standing, eyes still on his cell phone, and Cas was growing so aware of Dean’s presence that his skin started to tingle again, as if Dean would put the phone down and move closer if Cas just stood there long enough, waiting.

Cas reached for his pyjama bottoms instead, pulling them on without looking at Dean and wondering, briefly, if Dean was looking at him now and Cas realising that he wanted him to. Really wanted Dean to be watching him, wanted him to want to be watching him. But when he glanced Dean’s way, Dean was putting his phone back down on the bedside table and had lifted the covers to get into bed.

Perhaps Dean didn’t want him like that. Cas had always thought the human signal system for desire to be wholly confusing on the most basic level. Add to that humanity’s propensity for saying one thing and meaning another and that signal system became close to indecipherable. And yet he was slowly learning what made him respond, and through it came a slow understanding of what might make others respond as well. But Dean wasn’t others. Dean was Dean, and he was the only person Cas responded to the way he just had, which made teachable moments few and far between. 

Dean let out a soft exhale, covers absurdly pulled up to his chin when Cas knew for a fact he wasn’t comfortable that way and Cas felt like letting out a sigh of his own. 

He turned off the lamp on the window sill and climbed into bed as well, moving around a little to get comfortable and Dean suddenly chuckled.

“What?” Cas asked.

“Nothing,” Dean said, but when Cas looked at him he was wearing a smile, his eyes meeting Cas’.

“What?” Cas asked again.

“No, it’s nothing, it’s just…” Dean said, smile widening. “I really didn’t think we’d make good, you know…” he gestured to something mildly unspecific, but what Cas gathered was the bed, and them.

“Why not?” Cas asked, frowning as his chest began to feel hollow with misgivings.

“Neither of us… we’ve never… really… I dunno,” Dean said, infuriatingly airy on whatever topic he was actually trying to broach and Cas’ frown deepened as he refused to even offer a response, knowing this would be enough to make Dean see sense and be more specific. “Shared… stuff,” Dean said, instead of seeing sense suddenly looking worryingly hesitant, Cas recognising that look to mean that Dean was about to look for a way, any way, to change the subject.

“We’ve shared stuff,” Cas said, wishing he knew how to push the topic further, but sensing Dean already pulling back. “I think we’re not too bad at sharing stuff,” he added, Dean giving him a look for that gross exaggeration and both of them smiling wide, the tension dissipating. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about maybe finding more people who aren’t gonna lose it if they find out there’s supernatural critters out there,” Dean said. “I think it’s something we can really work with.”

Cas nodded a little, moving to lie on his back, eyes on the ceiling, thinking for a moment.

“Jody and Donna is our way in, if they’re willing to help,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Get the ball rolling.”

“Yeah,” Cas said. “I think Nev might be on board,” he added. “She asked me to dinner.”

“Oh?” Dean said, and this time there was no teasing there, merely a query.

“I said no,” Cas said, “but we’re gonna stay in touch.”

“So next time?” Dean asked.

Cas turned his head to look at him, Dean meeting his gaze, eyebrows raised, an expectant smile on his face that for a moment made Cas want to slap him for his blind stupidity.

“No,” he said, turning his eyes back on the ceiling again. “She’s nice, but she’s not my type.”

“That so?” Dean wondered. “So, who’s your type?”

Cas smiled then, and kept the answer to himself, enjoying the guessing game that ensued, enjoying Dean almost pleading with him to tell him, Cas refusing to, thinking maybe he would, if Dean actually guessed right. 

Dean didn’t.

*

Two days later they packed up Baby and got ready to head back to the bunker, neither of them saying how little they actually felt like leaving.

Dean grabbed the cooler from the hallway, filled, under Jesse’s insistance, with Dean’s new favourite beer, and had a brief look around the place, taking in the large painting in the living room, the furnishings and the kitchen counters and feeling a loss he wasn’t sure was fair on anyone. Staying a couple of extra nights had been indulgent, he knew that. And maybe even a little unfair, mostly on himself, because whatever mood he and Cas had gotten into, whatever slight shift he’d felt happen, was bound to unshift once they left, and it would’ve been better not to have lingered in it for so long. The sense of loss wouldn’t have been this strong if he hadn’t.

He stepped through the front door, closing it behind him and heading down the steps, crossing the yard to Baby. Cesar and Jesse were waiting by her hood, chatting about the front gate that was a constant annoyance as it was in dire need of an upgrade.

“Cas is saying bye to Iris,” Jesse said, noticing Dean frowning at them lacking the expected third, and Dean smiled.

They’d gone out riding most of yesterday and Iris had bonded with Cas and Cas had very sincerely bonded with her, to the point of him asking if they couldn’t stay the full week, to which Dean had at least said no, because he started feeling like they’d never be able to leave. Jesse and Cesar had taken it in stride and kept insisting they should come back for a visit anytime they felt like it. 

Cas had insisted right back that they should come to the bunker, dangling the enormous telescope that dwelled in the antechamber to the library as an incentive, one that made Cesar’s eyes grow huge with eagerness and Jesse laughingly agree that they’d make a trip to Kansas as soon as possible.

Dean looked in the direction of the barn, assuming Cas was wrapping it up, and turned to Jesse, who smiled at him and pulled him into a hard hug.

“Been good to see you, brother,” Jesse said, letting go.

“Thanks for having us,” Dean said, Jesse making a face like there was no need to say thank you and Dean turned to Cesar for another bearhug. 

“Thanks for answering the call,” Cesar said and Jesse hummed agreement.

Cas joined them as Cesar let Dean go, and there were hugs reserved for him too, Dean teasing Cas about taking his sweet time and how Dean thought he’d finally figured out who Cas’ type was, and Cas responding that in his limited experience Iris seemed like she’d make the perfect partner, Dean’s smile dying in an instant, which made all of them share a laugh.

Dean’s eyes met Cas’ and suddenly there was hope that this would last, this newfound ease. Cas smiled then, and the hope blossomed rather startlingly, making Dean plaster on a too broad smile in return, fingers trembling as they reached for the car door handle. 

Five minutes later and they were waiting for the front gate to slowly creak open to let them through. Cas was leaning his head back, silent, and Dean felt just as little need to say anything. He pressed his foot down on the gas and Baby rolled out through the open gate, leaving the ranch and the fields and that expanse of sky behind, but Dean felt like he was taking something with him. An understanding, of sorts. One that had allowed him to see Cas clearly for the first time since he gave up his grace, because that choice had frightened Dean into a sense of responsibility that wasn’t what Cas needed from him. He wasn’t sure what exactly Cas needed from him, but it wasn’t that.

There was one thing Dean did feel responsible for, though, and as they reached a crossroads he turned left instead of right, heading in the opposite direction of Kansas and Cas sat a little straighter.

“Dean,” he said.

Dean looked over at him, cocking a meaningful eyebrow.


	5. A Seven Hour Drive Later

“Well?” Dean asked, leaning back on his arms, legs stretched over the hood of Baby, Cas seated next to him, feet resting on Baby’s fender as he soaked in the, if Dean said so himself, breathtaking view of the Grand Canyon at sunset, the sky like molten gold lined with pinks and oranges, the canyon below reflecting the warmth of the sky.

Cas took another moment, then nodded slowly.

“Well,” he then agreed, cheek creasing in a smile, eyes still on the view.

Dean’s smile broadened as he took in Cas’ profile, telling himself he wasn’t doing so greedily, telling himself it didn’t make him stupidly happy whenever he could present Cas with an experience that he’d never had before, kind of failing at convincing himself as he watched Cas, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, and finding the likeness of a halo this time not even a little unsettling, but actually kind of beautiful. 

Dean cleared his throat, sitting up and scooting forward to sit properly next to Cas, but Cas jumped off the hood, went around to the back door and dove in to get something, reemerging carrying two bottles of beer and Dean couldn’t keep down another smile, accepting one of them as Cas jumped up and sat next to him again. 

They opened them at the same time, enjoying the puff of the bubbles rising, exchanging a look of recognition at the shared enjoyment, Dean smiling again, taking a sip and feeling the fucking magical taste enhancing the view just a little bit, sending Cas a look of appreciation that Cas didn’t catch, eyes on the crags and rock formations of the canyon, its plummet starting only a few strides away.

“What happened to no drinking while driving?” he then asked.

“We’re not driving,” Cas replied, Dean’s eyes lingering in his for a second before his smile widened a fraction. “You know,” Cas then said, placing a hand flat against the hood beneath them, looking back at the Impala with a soft frown, “we never talked about how this car is so recognisable.”

Dean shook his head.

“Cas,” he said, a warning there. “No,” he added.

“It was really only a matter of time before it came up,” Cas pressed.

“No, this isn’t… no,” Dean said.

“She’d look good in blue,” Cas suggested. “Or maybe red?”

Dean knew he looked as ill as he felt and Cas’ face split in a broad smile, which made Dean stare at him before giving his shoulder a hard shove, which made Cas’ expression turn pained and Dean’s regretful, before they both smiled again, clinking their bottles together for no good reason and having a deep drink each.

“I’m not retiring her,” Dean couldn’t help but make clear, Cas nodding again, eyes back on the view.

Dean watched him for another handful of seconds before saying:

“A message, huh? What’d Raph use? Or will it make me blush?”

Cas smiled, glancing at him.

“I don’t know what he used,” Cas said. “But I doubt it’d make you blush,” he added, making Dean smile.

“Why?” Dean couldn’t stop himself.

Cas’ smile widened and their eyes met, but he didn’t have a ready response and Dean left it, taking his gaze out of Cas’ for fear of sunsets suddenly seeming like perfect settings for acting on impulse and he hadn’t brought Cas here for that. He didn’t think. He hadn’t thought. He’d just wanted Cas to see it for himself, through eyes that weren’t tainted by Heaven anymore.

“I’m sorry… if…” Dean said slowly, growing unsure of what exactly he wanted to say, finally finishing with: “If I push you too hard, you know, I just want you to know what to do if you’re… out there… with us.”

He looked at Cas again, who was squinting at him.

“Dean,” he said, “I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you pushing me.”

Dean never knew quite how to take a compliment, especially from Cas, so he made a half-assed attempt at a scoff and turned his focus back on the canyon.

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, “it’s not like it’s the good life.”

“Maybe not,” Cas agreed. “But it’s still a good life.”

Dean turned his eyes briefly to him, barely daring to look at him anymore. 

“Is it?” Dean wondered quietly.

“The only life I’ve ever known,” Cas said, as earnest as ever. “Only one I’ve ever wanted,” he added and Dean swallowed.

“Me, too,” Dean admitted. “I mean, that ranch back there, don’t get me wrong, it’s awesome, but I don’t think I could ever just pack it in. Be a regular Joe. Yeah, sure, I’ve thought about what it’d be like. What I’d do if I wasn’t in the life. If I hung it up and just left it all behind, but my problem is - and, dude, it’s a pretty big one - I don’t know what I’d do with myself. And, you know, experience tells me I’d be climbing the walls within a week. So. I don’t see myself ever getting out. And I’ve stopped thinking that’s a bad thing.”

“Because it’s not,” Cas said, and Dean could tell he meant it. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Helluva way to live though. Twice the worrying about getting ganked,” he added, almost closing his eyes at his own carelessness, but remembering, with severe relief, that Cas had no way of knowing why that quote had stayed with him for the past few years, because he hadn’t been there when Cesar said it.

“I’m not worried,” Cas said simply and Dean’s eyes found their way to his, Dean feeling that gratitude again, of having this man in his life at all. “We’ll be fine,” Cas added and then he smiled before turning his eyes back on the view. “And if we’re not, we’ll be dead,” Cas finished, his tone entirely perfunctory, Dean staring at him before they both chuckled at the absurdity of it. “Sometimes the best things come out of the biggest mistakes,” Cas stated and Dean turned his gaze back on the view as well, the tip of his little finger suddenly touching the side of Cas’ hand, resting against Baby’s hood, and Dean felt that, yes, it had taken them a lot of mistakes and it’d probably take them a lot more, but they’d made it this far.

“No regrets,” Dean said, moving his finger away and instantly regretting it.

“No regrets,” Cas agreed, a smile placing itself on his mouth and Dean’s regret subsided at the sight of it. “Except maybe agreeing to get Rowena that book,” Cas said and Dean laid back down on the hood with a groan, Cas joining him, both of them looking up at the sky where the first stars were beginning to show.

“Cesar taught me the Little Dipper,” Cas said.

“Bet he did,” Dean said, unable to keep the naughy tinge out of his tone. 

“Do you know any?” Cas asked, either ignoring the tinge or not picking up on it at all and Dean almost wanted to ask.

Almost.

“A few,” he instead answered Cas’ question.

“Can we stay a while?” Cas wondered and Dean smiled a small smile.

“Of course,” he said, shifting to get himself a little more comfortable, folding his hands under his head and relaxing into stargazing with a former angel. “Wait, don’t you know all of them?” he asked.

“I only know them in Enochian,” Cas lamented.

“So?” Dean asked. “Tell ‘em to me in Enochian.”

Cas’ expression brightened and Dean felt very much like kissing him, but didn’t.

If only he’d known how much Cas felt very much like having Dean kissing him. But Dean didn’t.

And so there they lay, side by side, waiting patiently for the stars to light themselves across an ever paling sky, while hands waited impatiently to touch and hearts beat out a steady, joint longing for more and there was nothing to be done about it right then, but there was something restful about it too, as if there was an unspoken promise that even though it wasn’t now, it was soon.

And it was.

Soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really happy to get to share this with you guys and I hope you'll enjoy (or that you are enjoying) the read! So brilliant to take part in Pinefest 2019! Cheers to all the other contributors and to Michelle for creating the lovely art for this story!
> 
> I'm going to add the link here while I figure out how exactly to embed the actual art into this post: http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/183544151188/title-iris-author-amwritingmeta-artist
> 
> FYI: Iris is set about seven months before Let There Be More Light. So if you get to the end of this, I'm happy to make the friendly suggestion that you finish your read with that short fic, because reasons. :)


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